


Cynic and a Six-String

by fringeperson



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Artists, Communication, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Family, Friendship, Musicians, Teenagers, the difference one extra hobby can make
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 108,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: When they were packing for Lawndale, Daria found Jake's old guitar. This changes things, maybe not in big ways, but it changes them all the same.~Originally posted in '16
Relationships: Jane Lane & Daria Morgendorffer, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Trent Lane/Daria Morgendorffer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

_More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly._ \- Woody Allen.

~lalaLAlala~

When the Morgendorffer family were packing up their house in Texas, it was decided that they would also do a thorough clean-out – something they hadn't done the previous couple of times they'd moved, and almost didn't this time either. This meant that every dusty old cardboard box that hadn't been opened since before Daria had been born was dragged out, its contents were examined, and then it was determined if said contents would be kept.

It turned out to be a slightly embarrassing decision for Helen and Jake. Among the many relics of holidays not taken because both of them were now very serious sorts of people – Helen a lawyer, and Jake a marketing consultant – there were boxes that revealed to their daughters that the couple had, once upon a time, been _much_ more relaxed. All of the proof of their hippie days were in those boxes. Among other things.

Daria quickly spotted a reinforced box among the beaded headbands and psychedelic paisley shirts, and grabbed it.

“What's this?” she asked as she opened it up.

“Hey! That's my old six-string!” Jake exclaimed, a bright smile on his face, and reached over to give one of the strings a pluck. A musical tone came out, before the string snapped. It hadn't had that sort of strain put on it for a _long_ time.

Daria had been sentenced to music camp a couple of times, and been forced to play  _Pop Goes the Weasel_ on a dinky, squeaky flute. It had  _not_ been appreciated. However, she  _did_ enjoy writing, and sometimes she wrote poetry rather than prose, and it might be interesting to see if she could set some of that poetry to music using this thing.

In any event, a guitar  _had_ to be better than the flute if she was ever threatened with music camp again.

“Daria?” Helen asked, surprised by her eldest daughter's interest in the instrument.

“It might be interesting to see how some of my poetry would fit to music,” Daria said, giving an alternate, viable reason to her wanting the instrument, rather than simply her hatred of the flute and music camp.

Helen smiled. “Well, I'm sure there are some beginners books in the boxes somewhere,” she said.

“Yeah,” Jake agreed. “And it's not like I've got the time to play it any more.”

And that was that. Daria got the old guitar.

~lalaLAlala~

When they reached their new house in Lawndale, Daria was quick to claim the room that had been padded and semi-soundproofed for the sake of the previous schizophrenic shut-in occupant. It was grey all over, and apart from bringing in her own furniture and belongings, she didn't really want the room to be changed. There had once been steel bars on the windows, but they'd been mostly removed. She could, if needed, escape out the window.

Still, the TV attached to one high corner of the room didn't work, so she asked if she could get another one. The answer was yes, she could, and she stuck it on a small metal trolley that had been left behind by the previous owners. She was also permitted her own computer and printer as well, which was pretty cool of her folks. Occasionally, they could be. Quinn asked for a canopied bed, another full-length mirror, and a phone in her room. She got those too.

And then, for their first day at their new school, Jake drove them – which was completely unnecessary with how close they lived to the place. But there was a reason for it. Jake wanted to give them a pep-talk.

“Girls, I just want you to know, your mother and I realise that it's not easy moving to a whole new town,” Jake started as he pulled the car out of the driveway. “Especially for you Daria, right?”

Daria was very tempted to answer 'did we move?', but knew her dad was being serious and – more than that – was genuinely trying to be a good parent.

“Dad, seriously, leaving Highland behind can only be a good thing,” Daria answered frankly.

“I'm just concerned for you Daria,” Jake continued. “You don't make friends as easily as-”

Quinn chose that moment to turn up the radio.

“Uh, some people...” Jake said, and coughed slightly.

“Quinn, for instance?” Daria suggested.

“That's not what I meant,” Jake countered quickly, then added more quietly, “necessarily,” and turned off the radio.

Daria sighed. “Look, Dad, seriously, don't worry about it. There's no uranium in the drinking water here, and the chances of me having classmates here like I had in Highland are mercifully low. Also, the school population here is larger. I'm sure I'll find at least  _one_ person worth talking to before I graduate, and you know I prefer quality over quantity.”

Then they were at the school frontage and Jake stopped the car.

Quinn got out first and received a predictably warm reception.

“See ya Dad,” Daria bid, and while Quinn had all the attention on her, Daria slipped quietly passed the shallow masses.

~lalaLAlala~

The Morgendorffer sisters weren't the only new students to enter Lawndale High that day, and they were given a tour by the principal, Ms Li.

“As you can see,” the woman said as she concluded the tour in a hallway where each of them were assigned a locker – none of them next to each other, as they were getting whichever lockers didn't already belong to somebody. “Our Lawndale High students take great pride in their school. That's why you'll each be taking a small psychological exam, to spot any little clouds on the horizon, as you sail the student seas of Lawndale high.”

Daria personally thought that was code for “if you are the sort to pull a gun on your classmates, we want to know  _now_ .”

“Nobody told me about any tests,” Quinn objected.

“Don't worry,” Daria comforted dryly. “It's a _psychological_ test. You're automatically exempt.”

It was a little cruel, but it wasn't like Quinn even understood that she'd just been told she was essentially brainless.

“Oh,” she said, and then smiled. “Alright,” she agreed. She understood 'exempt' even if she didn't understand 'psychological'.

Daria knew that her sister wasn't completely stupid. She'd inherited more than just her looks from Helen after all. It was just that... Quinn didn't care to expand her mind at the moment, and the education at Highland had been less than outstanding. Daria had made up for this personally by isolating herself in the library, away from the idiots who, despite having somehow made it to high school, barely understood the most basic of math problems.

~lalaLAlala~

“Now Quinn, what do you see here?” the school's counsellor, one Mrs Manson asked when it was the turn of the two sisters to have their test.

Quietly, Daria reached across and claimed the rubix cube.

“It's a picture of two people talking,” Quinn answered.

“That's right!” the woman answered happily. “Can you make up a little story about what it is they're discussing?”

“I'm not even supposed to be taking this test,” Quinn objected. “I'm exempt.”

“You won't be graded,” Manson assured her.

“Oh. Okay then. Let's see...” Quinn began, and tapped her chin as she tried to come up with something. Ultimately, she drew upon what she knew best – social interactions between boys and girls her age. “They've been going out for a while and _he's_ upset 'cause other people keep asking her out, and she's saying _she_ can't help it if she's attractive and popular, and besides! Nobody ever _said_ they were going steady, and if he _does_ want to go steady then he's going to have to do a _lot_ better than movie-burger-backseat, movie-burger-backseat, because there are _plenty_ of guys with _bigger_ back seats waiting to take her some place _nice_ ,” Quinn recited, with body-language and gesticulations to help emphasise the important points of her story.

“Very good, Quinn,” Manson praised. “Now Dara,” she said, and shifted the picture across so that it was on her other side, and more in front of Daria than Quinn. “Let's see if you can make up a story as vivid as your sister's.”

“I do not appreciate sibling comparisons,” Daria stated, “or people getting my name wrong,” she added firmly. “My name is Daria. Not Dara.”

“I'm sorry, _Daria_ ,” the woman corrected, though she clearly wasn't sorry. “What do you see in the picture, Dara?” No. She wasn't sorry at all. In fact, she could care less.

“Um...” Daria said, and squinted visibly behind her glasses while she mentally slotted the woman into the 'enemy' column. “A herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains.”

“There aren't any ponies,” the counsellor said, and double-checked the picture for herself, just to make sure. “It's two people.”

“Last time I took one of these tests, they told me they were clouds, and they could be anything I wanted,” Daria answered with a calm shrug.

“That's a _different_ test,” Manson assured her firmly. “In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing.”

“Oh, I see,” she allowed, though she had known that, and rather than being _completely_ facetious, she gave the woman a semi-reasonable answer. “Alright then. It's a pair of brothers, and they're arguing about how one is bringing shame on their family for having joined the hippie movement and growing out his hair out like some sissy, while the other is an idiot for having joined the army. The bonds between the two brothers are strained as one goes to join the peace movement, and the other goes to war.”

Her little tale complete, delivered without the slightest emotive inflection, Daria set the solved cube down in front of her.

The woman who was the school's counsellor frowned at her, but didn't say anything as she slowly lowered the flash card.

~lalaLAlala~

After the tour of the school, and meeting the counsellor, there was only time for one more class before school let out, and for Daria, that was History with a man called Mr DeMartino. The man had issues, but as the class progressed, Daria ultimately decided that she didn't really blame the guy, after all, he had to teach the idiots that were in her class. She only had to peripherally put up with them.

Then, when the day was over and the Morgendorffer family was enjoying their store-bought lasagne, they got a call from the school.

“You girls had a psychological test at school today?” Helen asked when she hung up the phone.

“They said we wouldn't be graded!” Quinn objected.

“Let me guess,” Daria said as her mother returned to the table. “The woman didn't appreciate me solving her rubix cube and speaking in a monotone after I disdained sibling comparisons and corrected her when she got my name wrong.”

“That's what happened?” Helen asked. Then shook her head with a sigh. “Well, _they're_ saying you have low self-esteem, and want you to take an extra class after school for a few weeks.”

“That really stinks, Daria,” Jake said.

“Jake, focus,” Helen said gently. “Daria?”

“I don't have low self-esteem,” she answered. “I have low _esteem_ for everybody else.”

“All the same, the school insists you attend these classes, and then they'll test you again at the end,” Helen explained.

“Wait,” Quinn said, a thoughtful frown marring her pretty little face. “Does that mean _Daria_ _flunked_ the test?”

“No Dear,” Helen corrected. “It means the school doesn't appreciate your sister's outlook and wants to do something to change it. Hopefully for the better?” she added, her tone hopeful and enquiring as she turned to the daughter in question.

“I honestly believe that spending time putting my poetry to music has already improved my outlook,” Daria answered flatly. “I wasn't nearly as facetious, cynical _or_ sarcastic as I could have been.”

Helen sighed again. “Really Daria, I don't know  _what_ to do with you sometimes,” she admitted.

~lalaLAlala~

The teacher who led the course was definitely a feel-good sort of guy. Someone who hadn't left the days of peace and love behind quite as efficiently as her parents had. Someone who didn't understand that people were allowed – and indeed  _should_ – feel negative emotions at times. And he wore a salmon-coloured shirt. Now, fashion was Quinn's “thing”, but even Daria knew that a guy in a pink shirt, nine times out of ten, had some sort of identity issues.

“Excuse me,” Daria requested as she raised her hand. “I have a question.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, question and answer time is later,” Mr O'Neill apologised.

“I want to know what 'realising your actuality' means,” Daria said.

“It means... look, just let me get through this part okay? Then there'll be a video,” the man answered, a slightly desperate look on his face for a moment before he re-launched into his talk.

“He doesn't know what it means,” a voice said from behind Daria, and she turned to find a girl who somehow had both black hair and blue eyes. “He's got the speech memorised,” the girl continued with a red-painted smirk. “Just enjoy the nice man's soothing voice,” she recommended.

“How am I supposed to follow him if I don't know what he's talking about?” Daria asked.

“I can fill you in later,” she offered. “I've taken this course six times.”

And in the most unlikely of places, a friendship was seeded. But then again, if Daria had gotten in for annoying the counsellor, then who knew what the other kids were in for.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was surprised when, upon having parted ways with Jane Lane and returned home, her mother was there waiting for her in the living room.

“Mom? Are you feeling okay? It's not even five yet,” she noted as she closed the door behind her.

“I know, Honey,” Helen answered. “And I know that you don't _really_ have low self-esteem, but I thought... well, maybe a little mother-daughter bonding wouldn't be a bad idea?” she suggested.

Daria knew she wasn't going to get out of this. Helen had even ditched her suit and had on a pair of beige slacks with a blue top. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“I bought you a new guitar,” Helen answered with a gentle smile, and picked up a case that had been hidden on one of the sofas. “Since I know Jake's old one has... more than a bit of art on it that isn't exactly your style.”

That... was actually genuinely a good move by her mother. “Thanks,” Daria said gratefully, and accepted the new instrument.

“If you want to grab Jake's old one, and bring it down, I thought we could... try our hands at a bit of music?” Helen offered.

Daria shrugged and smiled, just slightly. “Couldn't hurt,” she agreed. And it was miles better than going shopping with the woman, which she probably would have done if she didn't have the music idea to latch on to.

Daria brought down the old, brightly-painted acoustic, and the pair of them took seats – cross-legged on the floor.

“Oof, I don't remember this being so difficult,” Helen remarked as she used both hands to tug her legs into the right places.

“You're used to well-padded swivel chairs now, that's all,” Daria said judiciously, rather than commenting on her mother's age. After all, Helen had just given her a brand new _twelve-string_ acoustic that, if she wanted, she could plug into an amplifier. That is, if she'd had an amplifier.

~lalaLAlala~

“Now guys, I've got a little challenge for you,” O'Neill said, and he said it like he was their best friend who was excited to give them a surprise he knew they'd like. The man was an idiot. “Today we talked about turning your daydreams into reality. Tonight, I want each of you to go home and do just that,” he explained, and then looked around the faces in the room. “Whadda ya say? Um... you!”

At random, he had picked on Daria. That was probably a mistake. Daria had little tolerance for the foolish man.

“What's a daydream that _you'd_ like to see come true?” he asked.

“Well,” Daria started, thoughtfully, “I guess I'd like my whole family to do something together,” she allowed.

“Excellent!” O'Neill praised.

“Something that will really make them suffer,” Daria finished.

“Um... well, uh... it's healthy to air these feelings,” he said. “I think,” he added, clearly uncertain of that proclamation. Then the bell sounded out, letting all after-school clubs and classes know that it was time to clear out. “We'll talk more about this tomorrow,” the man said, the smile returning to his face. “Class dismissed!”

“Nice one,” Jane complimented as they headed for the door.

“Thanks,” Daria answered. “So,” she said once they were in the hallways. “What daydream are _you_ going to make a reality?”

“Not sure,” Jane admitted. “I've done this course six times already after all. I'm running out of the simple daydreams that can be performed in the space of one evening. Well, that don't involve killing one or two of my classmates anyway. Maybe I'll dump a bucket of cold water over my brother, wake him up. He hasn't yet this week, though, granted, it is only Tuesday.”

“Are you sure he's alive?” Daria asked, incredulous.

“Oh yes,” Jane assured her friend. “I check on him before I leave the house in the mornings. He was still breathing when I left.”

Daria endured the full self-esteem course with Jane, if for no other reason than, as Jane pointed out, it was something to do with their afternoons. She did, however, persuade her friend to actually  _pass_ the release test this time around. Also, if they'd tried to test out early, they'd have given O'Neill potential cause to remember who they were.

Jane had taken the course six times, as already noted, but O'Neill still didn't remember her. No, he was a teacher it was quite easy to fly under the radar of – until and unless you did something particularly noteworthy, like graduate from his self-esteem class early.


	2. Chapter 2

_Most plain girls are virtuous because of the scarcity of opportunity to be otherwise._ \- Maya Angelou

~lalaLAlala~

Daria didn't get to meet the infamously sleeping elder brother until about a week after the self-esteem classes were behind them. She was hanging out with Jane at her place on a Saturday. Normally, they stuck to hanging out at and after school, or else they'd go for pizza if they didn't have too much homework on the weekends. This was a first.

Daria had brought along her guitar. The plan was that she would play it and keep one eye on the muted TV while Jane worked on her art. When Sick Sad World came back on, she'd stop playing, Jane would stop painting, and they'd settle in to watch the show until the next ad break.

Now, the Lane household, for all that it was falling apart in places, was well-equipped with stereos of various breeds, so it wasn't an at all unusual thing for music to be coming from any given room in the house. Amanda, Jane's mother, generally kept her radio tuned to a mellow rap channel – yes, mellow rap _actually_ _existed_ , amazingly enough – while she did her thing in the basement. Jane herself went in for something a bit more tech and a lot less wordy.

The sound of Daria's playing, however, was something that had never before echoed through the slightly crumbling grandeur of Casa de Lane, and it drew the resident musician from his cave.

“Cool sound,” declared a husky male voice from Jane's door.

“Trent!” Jane greeted in surprise. “You're awake before noon!”

“Heard something,” Trent answered. “Hey Janey.”

“Oh, right. You two haven't actually met yet. Daria, this is my brother Trent. Trent, this is my friend Daria Morgendorffer,” Jane presented.

“Daria, huh? Cool music,” Trent offered.

“Thanks, there are words too, but I don't sing,” Daria replied, forcing herself to act normal. For reasons beyond her comprehension, her tongue had suddenly become leaden and her stomach was vying with her heart for a place in her throat. Still, she refused to act like a monosyllabic dork. Okay, so she'd just been monosyllabic, but she hadn't been a dork at least.

“What?! Your songs have lyrics and you're denying me?” Jane decried with excessive drama.

“Yes, they do, and yes, I am,” Daria answered plainly, focusing on Jane, since it was much easier than speaking with her older brother. “I don't sing,” she repeated.

“Hey, Janey? Mystik Spiral's got a gig tonight,” Trent said, tucking away an amused smile as he semi-changed the subject and shuffled slowly into the room.

“McGrundy's or the Zon?” Jane asked. “Ah, never mind. I'll help Nick set up the sound system,” she promised. “Want to come Daria?” Jane offered.

“My first inclination is to say no, simply because I dislike being out in public,” Daria answered her friend easily, and re-focused on her guitar.

“Aw, come on Daria,” Jane weaselled. “Once we have the sound system set up, someone's got to man the thing. Nick's the bass player, so he can't, and I'd be way more interested in getting some sketches done.”

Daria sighed. “Fine,” she agreed. “It's a better option than staying home. You're gonna have to show me how it all works though.”

“Hey, if you like, I could talk to the owner. You could probably earn a few bucks playing your tunes between Mystik Spiral's sets,” Trent offered. “It's good.”

“Huh, well, I am saving up to buy a remote cabin in Montana,” Daria allowed, and smiled slightly, and hated herself that she could feel her cheeks warming.

“Cool,” Trent answered.

“Yes!” Jane agreed, a victorious smile on her face. “I'll make you a social creature yet, Morgendorffer,” she promised, and jabbed a finger at her friend.

“Don't hold your breath,” Daria countered.

~lalaLAlala~

“She's in high school?” Jesse asked when they took their break after the first set, and Daria took up position on a stool, plugged in her twelve-string, and started to play.

“Yep,” Jane answered. “Pretty impressive. Especially since, apparently, she only started playing a couple of weeks before she moved here.”

“She's better than us!” Max, the drummer, complained. “And we've been together for years!”

“Well, Daria is a bit of a genius, and she's also _awake_ for all those hours she spends practising,” Jane offered with a teasing smile.

“But look at her!” Nick gesticulated. “She's not just strumming chords like most guitarists! She's actually doing complicated fingering on that thing!”

“It takes me weeks to get anything half as complicated as that down,” Jesse added a bit sadly.

“Daria practices that fingering until said fingers actually _bleed_ ,” Jane stated firmly, explaining the differences in their practising styles in an effort to offer some comfort to the guy. “You didn't think the band-aids on her fingers were a _fashion statement_ , did you?”

“Man,” Trent said, a concerned frown on his face. “I hope I didn't screw up a regular gig for us by suggesting she get up there...”

“Nah,” Jane said, waving her brother off, utterly unconcerned. “We practically had to twist Daria's arm to get her to come in the first place. I don't see her taking your gigs. Or else you could sell it to the manager that Daria will _only_ play during the break of Mystik Spiral gigs, and he'll have to get you guys to get her to come too.”

“Hey Trent,” a new voice greeted. “Jesse, Nick, Max, Jane.”

“Hey Monique,” everyone echoed back in a staggered, casual sort of way as they turned, saw, and recognised the black-haired woman with the nose ring and red streaks around her face.

“Who's the soloist?” asked Monique.

“Friend of Janey's,” Trent answered. “Daria.”

“She's good,” Monique complimented.

“We were all just sayin' the same thing,” Nick agreed.

“Don't recognise whatever it is she's playing though,” Monique added.

“It's her own stuff,” Jane supplied. “Apparently it's got words too, but Daria refuses to sing, and she doesn't do covers.”

“Damn,” Jesse commented, and somehow that he was both impressed and relieved were conveyed in his tone. “She wrote that? Well, it's something at least, that she doesn't do covers.”

“Maybe,” Trent allowed, but privately he was wondering if maybe, just maybe, his kid sister's friend might be able to help him improve the music that Mystik Spiral produced. Not that he really wanted to have to deal with The Man any more than he already was, but being able to _sell_ his music would be pretty cool too. It would probably take something drastic to turn the situation with the band around though, which he kinda knew would have to happen if they wanted to be seriously viable. Trent shook off the thought and returned his attention to Monique. “How are the Harpies going?”

“I'm thinkin' of leavin',” she answered, and crossed her arms over her chest unhappily.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria really hated it when she was dragged along to these superficial 'catch-ups' with people her parents knew. She got insulted by her own mother, though she had the best of intentions and was  _trying_ to make it sound like she was giving compliments, and as entertaining as it was to see a three-year-old wipe her snotty nose on Quinn's jeans...

She still blamed Ramona (self-same three-year-old) for the college prep course her parents shunted not only her but also Quinn into, even if it had been the kid's parents that had said the words.

“We have to think about college application time,” Susan had said. “I mean, it's so hard to get into a good school _now_. What are you guys doing about it?”

And Helen hadn't had an answer for the woman in the beige turtle-neck. Jake couldn't even admit that the only thing that  _he'd_ been doing was setting money aside into a college fund for Daria since the time he'd seen her go from teething on Helen's law texts to actually  _reading_ them – at the age of four. Part of the reason he couldn't admit to that was because he hadn't been setting aside any money for  _Quinn's_ college attendance, and much as Helen tried not to play favourites with her daughters, Quinn was the child she was better able to understand.

On the bright side for Daria, Jane was (exclusively because it seemed that her parents actually had been responsible enough to set aside money for her to go to college) taking the course as well. The two friends would be able to be cynical about the pointlessness of the course together later.

Before they got to that though, they had to visit a college – and Helen and Jake promptly got excited about the idea of going back to see the place where  _they_ had gone to college: Middleton.

“Wait! _We_ get to pick the college!” Quinn objected. “And no one said you could come!” she added quickly.

“But Quinn, your father and I would love it if you followed in our footsteps!” Helen said, surprised at her daughter's reaction.

“We're walking?!” Quinn demanded, only to push away from the table and storm off.

~lalaLAlala~

They'd barely set foot on the Middleton campus, and the parental units were already getting nostalgic and trying to re-claim their youth. They soon ditched the tour-guide to check out places they remembered, and Quinn was quick to ask where the frat-houses were. They'd barely come to a halt when a college student tapped Quinn on the shoulder and asked if she was a pledge at one of the houses.

Quinn, foolish child that she was, lied and proudly proclaimed herself to be one.

She was promptly instructed to scrub the steps with a toothbrush, lest she risk something called a 'noodle-whipping', before the older girl left them once more.

“Quinn, you're in high school,” Daria pointed out.

“Listen Daria!” Quinn whipped out. “I don't stop you from reading. Don't stop me from this.”

“She's God's problem now kid,” advised Heather, the tour-guide, as she slipped a cigarette between her lips and lit it up. “Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

Daria shrugged and followed. The fraternities and sororities were good for character building, supposedly, so she wasn't going to worry about Quinn too much. If she was willing to scrub up a mess someone else had made with a  _toothbrush_ , then good luck to her.

Heather led Daria off to a fairly clean and relaxed part of the college where  _she_ lived and hung out, and invited her to share the couch.

“So this is college?” Daria asked.

“Pretty much,” Heather agreed. “There's also the part about working a stupid job and begging your parents for money,” she added calmly.

“Heather,” a man in a green uniform greeted, and handed over a yellow envelope before he left again.

“My Psyche term paper,” Heather declared with relief when she pulled out the sheaf of papers from within. “Finally! Nobody respects deadlines any more,” she complained.

Daria politely, if non-verbally, requested to take a peak.

“You paid somebody to write this for you?” she couldn't help but ask as she scanned through it.

“It was a collaboration,” Heather replied. “My part was to say how long it should be and when it was due.”

“But the first paragraph doesn't even make sense,” Daria informed the older girl plainly. “How much did you pay for this?”

“Fifty bucks,” Heather admitted, unhappy with that bit of news.

“I could fix this for you for... ten bucks,” Daria offered.

“Really? Great.”

“Wow,” agreed one of the other girls relaxing in the same room. “You know anything about the English civil war?”

“How about Renaissance painting?” added another.

“What I don't know I can fake,” Daria answered easily. “But cash only. I don't take cheques from college students.”

Less than half an hour later, Daria was set up with a computer. Within the time it took Daria to fix up Heather's paper, word had spread through the building and an appreciable-sized line of college students willing to pay for advice and their work to be done for them had formed.

“Hey, you know by now your folks are probably looking for you,” Heather pointed out as the time came that lights _had_ to be switched on, because the natural light through the windows was failing them.

“Let me make a notice for contact details for future assignments,” Daria said with an accepting nod.

They headed back to the fraternities and sororities to fetch Quinn, and they'd only just found her – she was being named Keg Queen – when a police car rolled up. With Helen and Jake inside, having been, indeed, frantically searching for them.

There were, apparently,  _rules_ about minors attending frat-parties, and the officer who'd driven the car informed them that they would have to be escorted off campus.

Daria actually smiled to herself. She'd seen the place her parents went to college, decided she wasn't interested in attending, would have a great story to tell about Quinn when they got older, and had not only made a nice little wad of cash, she had left a notice that would ensure a somewhat-steady income for her.

~lalaLAlala~

“Thrown out of college without even enrolling first,” Jane said with a chuckle as they walked together after having left the final class of the college prep course. “I am _damn_ proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Daria answered with dry sarcasm.

“How's business?” Jane asked, genuinely interested.

“Booming. I've got two Econ. problems sets and a paper on karowak that I have to get to the delivery guy by nine pm,” Daria replied. “And then? I quit,” she declared.

“What? But you're just getting started!” Jane objected, shocked.

“I already feel burned out on college, and I'm still in high school,” Daria stated plainly.

“Fair enough,” Jane allowed. “Hey, is that one of your customers?” she asked, pointing to a blonde guy with wire frames that was approaching the Morgendorffer house with an envelope in his hands. “Or is he one of Quinn's admirers?”

Daria whistled sharply. “Hey!” she called. “That my payment?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, Daria?” the guy questioned.

She nodded.

“Then, yes,” he said. “Thank you very much. I got a great mark on my paper.”

“You're welcome. But when you get back, please take down my info sheet? I'm burned out from doing so many papers,” Daria said, and tucked away the envelope once she'd checked that the cash amount within was correct. There were a few coins, which explained why the envelope, but the end figure was right.

“Okay,” the guy agreed. “Well, thanks again,” he said, and with one last wave, he promptly turned around and headed back to the bus stop.

“Well, once I've got these last few done, I'm going to settle down and do some writing for myself,” Daria declared.

“Ooh, songs?” Jane asked. “You know, Trent's been muttering about asking you to help improve the Mystik Spiral songs.”

“I don't write songs. I write poetry,” Daria corrected. “Then I figure out how to express the ideas of that poetry through music, and _then_ I figure out a way the music and the words can fit together into one whole entity, even if I never actually communicate that final whole in its true and complete form.”

“I'll pass that on to Trent,” Jane said with a satisfied smirk. “See you tomorrow Daria.”

“Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

_The state of innocence contains the germs of all future sin._ \- Alexandre Arnoux

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Daria, you're a chick, right?” Kevin asked when she went to her locker to get her books. He'd been leaning against hers, so she had, unfortunately, had to announce her presence in order to get him to move.

“Why? Do you have a biology test this afternoon?” she countered, utterly disinterested in whatever it was he wanted, but willing to humour him, at least until the bell rang.

“Why should _I_ be interested in whatever this Shakespeare guy has to say?” Kevin asked, possibly genuinely curious.

“For one, because your girlfriend is really into it, so you should pay attention or risk her dumping you,” Daria started. “For two, someone dies in almost every play. Even Romeo and Juliet.”

“Really?” Kevin asked, confused, but impressed at that second idea.

“Really,” Daria confirmed. “If you paid attention in class, you might have known that.”

“Huh...” Kevin said, then frowned, raised a hand to his head, and wandered off.

“I do believe you actually made him think,” Mack commented to Daria.

“Yeah, I got that from the way he was cradling his head like it hurt,” she answered, and then headed to class herself.

~lalaLAlala~

O'Neill was very good at re-phrasing what he heard so that what he came back with _sounded_ _like_ what had been said, while its meaning was completely different. But then, he _was_ an English teacher. Unfortunately, he was also good at projecting, bad at empathy, and a recognised _joke_ when he started talking about anything that wasn't strictly the curriculum he was supposed to be teaching them.

“Class, I thought today we'd take a break from the tragedy of _Romeo and Juliet_ to discuss the _real life_ tragedy that happened last night here in Lawndale,” the man told them once they were all seated and silent. “Let's share our feelings of violation following the loss of our beloved cyber café: alt dot Lawndale dot com.” Up until this point, he had been talking with that affected graveness he used sometimes, but it quickly vanished when he asked: “Who would like to start?” in that hopeful, cheerful voice that told everybody that really, the only reason he wasn't working with primary school children was because they would actively eat him alive.

Teenagers attacked with apathy and silence. It was much safer for the man.

“Jodie?” O'Neill asked when he was met with that overwhelming silence.

“I think that the cyber café served one very particular segment of the community,” Jodie answered with an arched brow. Clearly, she _wasn't_ a customer. “But it still pisses me off when people take what isn't theirs,” she added.

“About that word, community,” O'Neill said, and it became clear that he was going to go off and try and turn the statement on its head. “Isn't that the whole idea of a cyber café?” he asked. “To jack us in to the _global_ community? I think what's most disturbing about this crime is the symbolism involved!”

Daria didn't, for one second, believe that the criminals who had stolen a bunch of computers from a café – that the owners had been too dumb to properly secure so that they  _couldn't_ be stolen – had any clue about 'symbolism'. She was fairly sure they'd done it so that they would a) have a computer of their own and b) have a bunch of computers that they could sell and make money off.

“Don't you agree Jane?” O'Neill asked brightly.

“No,” Jane answered. Jane disliked being picked on to 'agree' with O'Neill on his ideas of symbolism.

O'Neill breezed passed the negative answer. “Suddenly we're cut off! We can't hail our friends across the globe and say  _it's a beautiful day in the cyberhood_ . They didn't just take a few computers,” O'Neill said, and he actually seemed to be getting passionate. “They took the symbol of our virtual community! To visit alt dot Lawndale dot com was to come together with the planet!”

“Oh, come on.”

The words slipped out without her even meaning for them to. She just couldn't take it any more.

“Yes?” O'Neill asked, his bubble somewhat deflated.

“Come together with the planet?” Daria repeated, utterly incredulous. “By staring at a screen for hours? Sitting in a room filled with people you never say a word to?”

“Hmm... Interesting point, Dorian,” O'Neill allowed.

“It's Daria,” she corrected. She may want to fly under the man's radar, but she _really_ didn't like it when people got her name wrong.

“Oh, sorry,” O'Neill said. “Daria. You believe that while connecting Lawndale citizens to our global neighbours, the café was alienating us from each other.” It wasn't a question. It was a re-statement. And a not wholly accurate one either.

“No,” Daria corrected. “I'm saying, if you miss the place, put a 'Mr Coffee' in the computer lab.”

“So... in _your_ opinion -” O'Neill started.

“No, stop,” Daria cut in. “ _My opinion_ does not need to be twisted by your rose-tinted world-view,” she stated firmly, shutting the man down.

O'Neill pouted like a kicked puppy, but he rallied. “So... perhaps what we need is a return to the  _traditional_ coffee house of yore,” he said. “Where you'd watch some performers and share a cup with your friends, face to face! We should all work together to make this vision a reality!” O'Neill ploughed on. “We'll plan it, locate it, raise the money, and open it!”

“Would this count as an extra-curricular activity?” Daria asked.

“Of course,” O'Neill answered with a smile.

“Then I'd like to register as a conscientious objector,” Daria stated. “And can we please get back to the day's lesson plan and Shakespeare?”

~lalaLAlala~

It was Saturday morning, and her father's paper had been divided up into the Business and Financial section, the Arts and Social Interest section, the Sports section, and the Politics section. Jake was reading the Business and Financial section, and Daria had the Arts and Social Interest section. Sports and Politics were still on the table, and after father and daughter had swapped the pieces they were currently reading, they'd move on to the two sections that still hadn't been touched yet.

“Hi,” Helen greeted pleasantly as she walked in. “Got to change, dinner meeting,” she added as she didn't even stop, but rather continued straight on.

“Did something happen?” Jake asked Daria once Helen was out of sight.

“Mm... depends on your perspective,” Daria answered as she turned the page of her part of the paper.

“Hi!” It was Quinn. “No dinner for me! Emergency meeting of the Fashion Club!”

“If I actually cared, I'd wonder about these emergency meetings,” Daria quipped, mostly to herself, as Quinn also hurried on her way.

“That was Quinn,” Jake said.

“Yes,” Daria agreed. “But you still haven't identified our _first_ mystery guest.”

“Dammit,” said Helen as she returned. “I just called Eric for directions and he said the meeting's cancelled,” she complained, hands planted on her hips. Then brightened slightly. “Well, that gives us the chance for a nice family dinner.”

“I'll throw another steak on the grill,” Daria promised.

“Later,” Quinn called as she power-walked out through the door she had, not moments before, come in by. She'd gone up to her room, grabbed her bag, and then head straight out again.

“Where's she going?” Helen wondered as she watched her youngest leave with barely a good-bye.

“Emergency at the Fashion Club,” Daria answered unfeelingly, and turned her attention to the next article of the paper.

“You know Daria, it wouldn't hurt you to take part in some after-school activities once in a while,” Helen commented as she took a seat at the table and reached for the Politics section of the paper that was on the table. “Colleges look at that sort of thing on your applications.”

“And here I thought it was all about if you could pay,” Daria quipped. “This _might_ be a good time to talk about setting up a trust?” she suggested.

“Jake, tell her,” Helen requested, then frowned and pulled his paper out of his hands. “Tell her!” she repeated firmly.

“Yes? What?” Jake asked, shocked out of his reading.

“About the importance for extra-curricular activities for getting into college,” Helen said.

“That sort of thing is more important if you're going for a scholarship,” Jake answered his wife. “I started setting aside money for Daria's college fund when she was four years old, and colleges really are more concerned about if you can _pay_ , these days.”

“You're not helping me,” Helen informed him in an unhappily pleasant voice – the one that sweetly promised trouble later.

“Really Dad?” Daria asked, surprised. “I didn't know that.”

Jake chuckled. “Your old man still has a few surprises tucked up his sleeve,” he said. “Besides, even when you were still just a pre-schooler, I could tell you were smart.”

Daria smiled. “Thanks Dad. Oh hey, have you thought about making a living will?”

“You think I need one?” Jake asked.

Daria shrugged. “I'd hope you wouldn't, but they exist because of the possibility of worst-case scenarios. A living trust might be a good idea too,” she added cautiously.

Jake nodded thoughtfully and picked up his paper once more.

“Ugh,” Helen grunted softly in frustration. “Look, Daria, just _think_ about it, that's all I ask.”

“Fair enough,” Daria agreed.

“Because otherwise we might have to make up for it over the summer,” Helen added with a hint of a smirk. “Maybe send you to music camp?”

“You wouldn't,” Daria said lowly.

“With the way Daria practices on the guitar all the time, I can hardly see the point,” Jake added.

“I would interpret music camp as punishment for doing something very, very wrong,” Daria stated flatly, eyes narrowed dangerously behind her glasses.

“Nonsense,” Helen said with a wave of her hand. “It would just be an easy way of getting some extra-curricular activity on your college applications. That is, unless you can come up with any on your own.”

“You're good,” Daria complimented her mother ruefully. “When you put your mind to it, you're very, very good.”

“You'll find something to get involved with,” Helen assured her eldest daughter. “It'll be fun!”

Daria wondered if Jane had been serious about her brother wanting her help with going over Mystik Spiral's songs, and if that could potentially count...

~lalaLAlala~

“Yeah,” Jane said. “Trent's still muttering about asking for some help, maybe, even after what I passed on. I don't see it working to get your mother off your back about music camp and extra-curricular activities though.”

“Damn.”

“Why don't you perform at the coffee house? It's a school-related project, and O'Neill would give you the credit for it,” Jane suggested.

“I don't want the whole school knowing I play guitar,” Daria countered. “Dive bars are okay because no one _we_ know goes there.”

“Well, no one _you_ know,” Jane corrected with a chuckle. “I've been helping out Trent and the guys long enough that I know most of the regulars at McGrundy's and the Zon. But hey, I'm sure if you just told O'Neill you wanted to volunteer, he'd have an idea of what you could do.”

“That's a mildly terrifying prospect,” Daria pointed out.

Jane shrugged. “You said your songs had words, right? Give 'em a poetry reading,” she suggested, then frowned. “Ooh, no. You  _don't_ want to do poetry for this crowd.”

Daria smirked in agreement. “Then maybe some prose,” she said thoughtfully. “Alright, I'll tell O'Neill that I want to volunteer for the coffee house, and look through what essays I've got that I could read.”

Jane chuckled. “You gotta give them something they'll  _really_ appreciate. Picture Kevin and Brittany drinking in your words like an elixir of knowledge,” she said, a dark smile on her face as her artistic vision painted a vivid mental picture. “Heady, potent,  _seductive_ ...”

“Are you marketing your own fragrance now?” Daria asked wryly. “If that's the criteria, then I'm going to have to write something new for the occasion. Provided O'Neill goes for the idea of me reading something to get the credits.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Café Lawndale closed until further notice,” Jake read aloud from the paper. “Isn't that the coffee house you were working for Daria?” he asked.

“Yes, but I already got my extra credit,” she answered. “They can't take it away _now_.”

“School authorities have decided to close Lawndale's new young adult coffee house after its opening night somehow turned into an anti-communist rally,” Jake read out, and sent Daria a questioning look.

She didn't so much as twitch.

“Some unscheduled propagandising went on, and the students reacted a little too favourably – explained coffee house director Timothy O'Neill, teacher at Lawndale High. Following a reading of some right-wing literature, several members of the football team marched down North Avenue, intending to stone the Russian Embassy. Of course, there are no embassies in Lawndale,” Jake continued. “Teens are impressionable, O'Neill said, and the last thing we want to do is provide a base of operations to political extremists.”

“Very wise,” Daria agreed, while mentally filing O'Neill under 'enemy' in her mental categories of where people fit. He was a well-meaning, mushy-headed, still-a-flower-child of a man who really had the best intentions, but one did not have to _intend_ harm to cause it. “The _religious_ extremists are bad enough,” she said, rather than giving voice to her thoughts.

“Did either of you girls know anything about this?” Jake asked, shuffling his paper.

“I wasn't there,” Quinn said plainly. “I had a _real_ date.”

“Daria? Did you have any idea we had these kinds of radicals here in town?” Jake asked.

“No,” she answered. “But we've got to maintain constant vigilance against those who would manipulate us into actions we would never take on our own.”

“I'll say!” Jake agreed firmly.

Helen, who was stood at the kitchen island and had been double-checking she had everything she would need for her breakfast meeting, stopped and looked over at Daria. “You're good,” she complimented her daughter. “When you put your mind to it, you're very, very good.”

Daria's mouth twitched, and it might have been a smile. That was praise as welcome as seeing the entire audience (save for Jane) jump to their feet when she'd finished reading her tale of Melody Powers, all of them cheering, and then seeing the football team marching out with intent.


	4. Chapter 4

_More will mean worse._ \- Kingsley Amis

~lalaLAlala~

“A hundred miles? To go to a mall?!” Jake demanded. “Dammit, there's a mall five minutes away!”

“Sit down, Dear,” Helen instructed. “We're not going.”

“Oh,” Jake said, and with a smile back on his face, he did just that.

“It's not 'a mall',” Quinn corrected. “It's a _super_ mall!” she said enthusiastically, arms stretched out to indicate just how super it was. “The Mall of the Millennium! Shop there forever!”

“It's too far away Quinn,” Helen said firmly. “And you've done _enough_ shopping for this quarter.”

“Mo- _om_!” Quinn objected, as if there was no such _thing_ as 'enough' shopping. “As vice-president of the fashion club, I _need_ to know what's _out_ there!”

“Then order their catalogues,” Daria advised flatly.

“Mm,” Helen agreed with a nod. “No more malls for you, young lady, until you raise your grade-point average,” Helen informed Quinn as kindly as she could.

“Exactly,” Jake agreed with a thump of fist-to-table. “What's wrong with her grade-point average?” he asked Helen quietly across the table.

“How will I hold my head up in the fashion club?!” Quinn demanded loudly before Helen could answer her husband.

“With pride,” Daria suggested, a smirk on her face, “because you will have to have a better grade-point average than all three of _them_ before you're allowed to go shopping again.”

“Just because _you're_ not interested in what's new and attractive and popular, Daria,” Quinn grumbled.

Daria sighed, frustrated with her sister. Actually, she  _was_ peripherally interested in what was attractive, but 'new' and 'popular'? No, she could really not care less. Those two categories were way too fickle for her tastes.

~lalaLAlala~

“Repository of human greed and debasement,” Jane commented as they sat in the cafeteria at lunch after their economics class had let out – with the promise to go to the Mall of the Millennium next Friday. “I gotta pass that one on to Trent.”

“I'm already working on a poem about it,” Daria admitted.

“That was fast,” Jane noted, and arched an eyebrow at her friend.

“Quinn was raving about it at dinner last night,” Daria answered with a shrug. “I had some time after finishing my chem homework.”

“Any chance I'll ever get to read any of your poetry?” Jane asked hopefully. “The music you make to go with it is pretty inspiring stuff.”

“And the art you are inspired to produce echoes the words you don't get to hear,” Daria replied.

“Really? You're not kidding?” Jane asked. “It's still a little hard to tell with you sometimes.”

“I'm not kidding. It would almost be creepy, but you've got that artistic temperament and interpretive 'vibe' going for you,” Daria admitted with a shrug. “As for the line, go ahead. I'd be interested to hear what he gets out of it.”

~lalaLAlala~

Kevin had gotten down from one hundred to seventy-seven in singing  _a-hundred bottles of beer on the wall_ before even Brittany got sick of it and asked him to stop. Shortly after she made him stop, Daria started to feel sick.

“Didn't know you got carsick, Daria,” Jane commented as she tried to wrench open the window beside her. It was, unfortunately, stuck.

“I don't normally,” Daria answered. “It's the fumes. It smells like... it smells like...”

“Team spirit?” Jane suggested.

“Cheap perfume,” Daria corrected lowly.

“Brittany must be working up a sweat,” Jane commiserated. “You want this window open, you're gonna have to help.”

“Sure,” Daria agreed. “At least I'll be in a safe position to puke when we get it open.”

Thankfully, they managed to get the window open, and Daria managed to hold on to her breakfast until they'd exited the bus, boarded the transport car at the massive mall, and even managed to suppress her gag reflex until they'd stopped at the entrance and everybody else (save a supportive Jane) had disembarked.

She even managed to keep from throwing up on either her boots, or Jane's.

From there, the class proceeded to a meeting with the mall executives. There, it was quickly revealed that said execs were being  _very_ practical by getting in the meeting the teacher wanted  _and_ using the class as a focus group. An  _unpaid_ focus group, until a few well-spoken and very pointed words convinced the middle-aged men to hand out twenty-dollar vouchers to every student in the class.

“I would have held out for fifty,” Daria said when they left the board room. “But no. Everybody was satisfied with a mere, trifling twenty.”

Jane smirked. “I got two,” she said. “Told them I was getting yours as well.”

Daria raised an eyebrow at her friend and held up her three. “I told the guy I wouldn't settle for such a cheap bribe,” she answered her friend. “ _Or_ a random one. I may have also mentioned that my mother is a lawyer. I've got a book store, a music supplies store, and a stationers.”

“Damn,” Jane said with a frown. “I got 'scissor wizard' and 'the do-dad store'. But, I could use a new pair of scissors, so I can use that one at least, and it will be interesting to see exactly what a 'do-dad' _is_.”

“Daria, Jane, you'll observe traffic patterns in the food court,” assigned their teacher, Mrs Bennet.

“Should have grabbed a coupon for pizza,” Jane muttered, looking down at her slips of paper while the other assignments were handed out.

“Now, we'll meet back here at quarter to three,” Mrs Bennet informed them all. “Remember, area 'F', section 'Moss', level 'Three'. Got it?” she asked everybody. “F, Moss, Three.”

Kevin quickly proved how poor a memory he had.

“Everyone? Write. It. Down,” Mrs Bennet instructed firmly.

~lalaLAlala~

“Traffic patterns at the food court,” Jane said when they reached the area in question.

“I've noticed a pattern,” Daria offered. “People walk in here looking hungry...”

“And leave stuffing their face,” Jane picked up.

“Assignment completed,” Daria declared.

“Now for _extra credit_ ,” Jane decided. “Let's experience the traffic pattern for ourselves,” she suggested, and turned to head towards a place called 'fries-n-things'.

Daria, now hungry after having gotten over the forcible re-visiting of her breakfast, was glad enough to follow.

They'd just made their order when there was a polite tap on Daria's shoulder.

She was  _quite_ surprised at who she found there when she turned around. “Imagine meeting you here, at the mall, on a school day,” Daria greeted. “During school hours even. I'm here with my economics class. What's you're excuse?”

“Ah!” Quinn yelped, panic over-coming her face.

Daria smirked. “Good to see you too,” she answered.

“Burger up,” Jane said, and passed Daria her brown bag of burger-and-fries-to-go, a firm grip on her own maintained by her other hand.

Quinn looked over her shoulder at three girls who were standing just a bit behind her, and clearly away from the line of those interested in getting such a greasy food as fries. “Just one sec guys,” she begged. “I'm going to reel in our first make-over candidate.”

Daria raised an eyebrow. “That's the infamous 'Fashion Club'?” she asked, even as she let Quinn turn her around and steer her away.

“I can identify them,” Jane promised softly.

“Well,” Daria said as the three of them walked. “I'm sure Mom and Dad will be really pleased to hear I ran into you. Here at the mall. On this lovely school day,” she added, making sure that her sister knew just how much trouble she could potentially be in right now.

“Okay, state your terms,” Quinn said lowly. There were benefits to having a lawyer for a mother. It made communicating this sort of thing much easier.

“You _will_ raise your grade-point average to at least a B-minus by the end of the quarter,” Daria said firmly. “You _will_ spend an hour every day after school studying.”

“An _hour_?!” Quinn wailed. “Every _day_?!”

“Yes,” Daria said with a nod. “And you _will_ be exclusively in charge of cleaning the upstairs bathroom for a month.”

“A _month_?!” Quinn exclaimed.

“There's no way there's an echo in here,” Jane quipped. “And really, I'd hold out for hard cash.”

“Would you take cash instead?” Quinn asked her sister seriously.

“For this? A hundred bucks and not a penny less,” Daria answered firmly.

Quinn winced. “What about... I raise my grade-point average to a solid B by the end of the school year, and I give you twenty?” she tried to bargain.

“Thirty, and you'll work towards getting _straight_ B's,” Daria countered, “and I mean _earn_ it, no cheating off nerds. And the upstairs bathroom for a week.”

“If I can't make straight B's?” Quinn asked, shoulders slumping.

“Prove you made a genuine effort,” Daria allowed. “Be grateful I'm not asking for a ride back with you into the bargain.”

“Ugh, done,” Quinn complained, and shoved her hand into her pocket to bring out the required cash.

“Quinn,” Daria called before her little sister could storm off in a huff.

“What?” Quinn demanded sharply.

“If you ever need or want help getting those B's, you can ask me for help,” Daria offered.

Quinn relaxed a little. “Thanks, I guess,” she allowed. “And the grade would make Mom and Dad happy, wouldn't it?”

“Yes,” Daria answered.

“Well, see you later,” Quinn bid.

“Later,” Daria agreed.

With that, the two sisters turned and headed in opposite directions.

“I am _damn_ impressed with your bargaining skills,” Jane observed to her friend.

“I learned to read from Mom's law texts and Dad's business portfolios,” Daria answered with a slightly proud smirk.

~lalaLAlala~

'Scissor Wizard', when they got there after eating their lunch, turned out to be a hair salon. Jane and Daria were both quite satisfied with the way their hair was though. A few carefully made suggestions and well-placed comments had the woman offering to buy back Jane's coupon for cash, which suited her just fine.

“Alright, next up, let's find out what a do-dad _is_ ,” Jane suggested. “Then we'll go spend your coupons.”

When they found the store, they spent a moment just staring at the junk that was in the window, not sure if they should be awed or horrified at the idea of anybody spending money on this stuff. When they went in, Daria was accosted.

“What are you doing to my friend?” Jane demanded when they'd finished their odd song, tossed a purple paper lei over Daria's head, and forced three helium balloons into her hand.

“You're our lucky ten-thousandth customer!” said a bearded guy to Daria. “All these do-dads are yours for free!” he said, and shoved a collection of junkish items into Daria's arms. “Don't you get it?” he asked when Daria didn't react. “You're our winner!”

“Winner?” Daria asked.

“You know, it's another word for loser,” Jane offered.

Then they insisted on a picture before letting Daria go. Jane was quick to pick out a do-dad that she could incorporate into a sculpture, swap it for her coupon, and then the pair of them left to saner pastures.

The book store, the music supplies store, and the stationers. Daria got a new notebook from the first, guitar strings from the second, and a nice fountain pen from the third.

“Alright, time to go and face the bus again,” Jane said apologetically as the last purchase of the day was bagged.

“Yeah,” Daria agreed unhappily. “I should have gotten us a ride back with Quinn.”

“Too late now,” Jane said with a shrug. “And hey, you got thirty bucks off her.”

“That's true,” Daria agreed. “More money towards the Montana Cabin Fund.”


	5. Chapter 5

_What passes for optimism is most often the effect of an intellectual error._ \- Raymond Aron

~lalaLAlala~

“Good morning!” Ms Li called as she opened the door to the classroom. It was about seven minutes past ten, and O'Neill had already tried to suggest that Thoreau was a pioneer of the conservationist movement, and Brittany had showed that she'd watched the movie rather than read the book, and, as usual, didn't get the point.

So, while it was still morning, the 'good' was debatable.

“I hope I'm not disrupting the learning process?” Li asked O'Neill.

“Oh, no,” he admitted sadly as he folded his arms over his chest.

“I've got some exciting information for you all,” Li informed the class, and she did seem genuinely excited about what she was going to tell them. “A team of talent scouts from _Amazon Models_ will be here, this week, as part of their national talent search, and the most promising Lawndale High Student will receive a professional modelling contract!”

“They got my letter!” Brittany exclaimed.

Jodie raised her hand and asked “Why here?”

“I guess they found out what a good-looking group you are,” Ms Li said with a chortle. “But, seriously? This is a great opportunity for all of you, and for the greater good of Lawndale High.”

“Excuse me?” Daria requested, raising her own hand.

“Yes?” Li answered.

“Isn't modelling about dropping out of school to pursue a career based solely on your youth and your looks? Both of which are inevitably declared over by age twenty-five?” Daria questioned, though, granted, there were some people that managed to hold onto their looks past that point. Some even without the aid of cosmetic surgery. Still, 'youth' was definitely long gone by then.

“Do you have a _point_ , Ms Morgendorffer?” Li asked with a sigh.

“And... don't fashion people squander their lives, loudly worshipping all that is superficial and meaningless?” Jane added. “While the planet keeps riding a roller-coaster to hell?”

“Modelling is a competitive field, yes,” Li allowed. “But, the financial rewards are great. As principle, I'd be cheating our student body if I didn't allow them every opportunity to fulfil their potential.” With that said, Ms Li let herself out of the classroom before any more questions could be fired at her.

“I smell 'financial reward' for the school,” Daria quipped lowly to Jane.

“Agreed.”

~lalaLAlala~

“So, what do you _really_ think of having to put up with _fashionistas_ invading the school for a week, looking for someone new to grace the covers of glossy magazines?” Jane asked when they sat down for lunch.

“I think it's a good thing they're only here for a week, and if they take Quinn, there are going to be _issues_ in the Morgendorffer home,” Daria said, then sighed. “I think a lot of normally sensible people are going to stop eating proper-sized lunches, and there are enough people with eating disorders around the place already.”

“True enough,” Jane agreed.

“What do you think?” Daria asked.

“I think I've been trying to get models for my art for ages,” Jane answered flatly, “and I've had absolutely no joy here in Lawndale before I met you.”

Daria's eyes widened behind her glasses. “Me?” she asked, surprised.

“Yep,” Jane agreed. “You're willing to just sit there, however I poke at you,” she explained. “Plus, those days I don't want to poke at you to sit in some particular way, you play that really inspiring music of yours.”

Daria let that soak into her brain for a moment.

“Don't worry,” Jane assured her friend. “Pretty as you are, I'm only interested in your body. You can't recognise the face on these pieces.”

“Well, I guess that explains a few things about our friendship,” Daria decided.

“Glad you don't mind,” Jane said with a smile.

“Next time we go for pizza, it's your treat.”

~lalaLAlala~

The modelling agency people showed up during economics class, and, of all the people in the room, were drawn to Jane – after they'd let Brittany strut her stuff for a moment.

Jane, who turned them away silently and efficiently by showing a sketch of a pair of vultures going after a dying man in a desert. Vultures that had the heads of the two from the fashion agency.

“I see you're more interested in the _design_ end of things,” the woman said, offended by the sketch.

“That's an excellent likeness of _you_ darling,” quipped the man with a chuckle, much more amused than his counterpart. “Oh!” he breathed softly as he turned away from his partner to a figure he'd spotted out of the corner of his eye. “Look at _you_ ,” he said, and seemed genuinely stunned, even as he point at, of all people, Daria. “So waif-like, so pouty. Could you remove your glasses?” he requested politely.

“You'd have to talk to my agent,” Daria answered shortly with a gesture to Jane.

“Keep 'em on,” Jane said shortly.

“Thank you,” Daria agreed. “There you have it, I can't remove my glasses. Besides, I need them to see scam artists,” she added.

Neither of them looked particularly amused by that statement.

~lalaLAlala~

Quinn was picked on, and beyond thrilled to be noted by the fashion people. Unfortunately for her, she'd come in with this great news after Daria had finished telling her parents all the particulars. Including but not limited to the financial incentive that the school was receiving for letting the modelling agency come to the school and recruit. She'd managed to get the details from Jodie, who'd gotten them from Mrs Bennet, who worked the school's budget with Ms Li. For a piece of second-hand information, that was a very reliable source.

“Alright,” Helen told Quinn after she got off the phone with the woman from the agency – she'd timed her call fabulously. “You can participate in the open class. But it goes no further.”

“Yes!” Quinn cheered, and rose from her chair happily. Without so much as a 'thank you' she headed up to her room.

Helen turned next to Daria. “Now what do I have to do to get  _you_ to go to that class and keep an eye on her, hm?” she asked seriously.

“Ten bucks and no more talk about redecorating my room,” Daria said firmly. She liked her padded walls, and Jane complimented her on having a very cool room every other time she came over, but Helen had started talking about redecorating it. “For at least twelve months,” Daria added, knowing that her mother was more likely to agree to her request if she gave a time-limit.

“Done,” Helen agreed quickly.

“Done,” Daria agreed, signifying that she wasn't going to add any more requests.

Helen arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You're getting softer,” she noted.

“On the contrary,” Daria answered. “I was thinking about going anyway.”

“You were?” Helen asked, surprised.

“I'm sensing the potential for total humiliation of Quinn here,” Daria explained as she also rose from her seat. “I'd never forgive myself if I missed it.”

~lalaLAlala~

Jane joined her in watching, and of course they made commentary.

“Alright ladies,” said Romanica, the clawed woman who had taken offence to Jane's sketch. “Now. When you stride down the runway, you're walking towards your car. You've spotted a headless corpse in it, _and it's a brand new car_!”

“And a smelly old corpse,” Daria quipped.

“In a really bad outfit,” Jane added.

“Hey Janey,” a new voice greeted.

Both girls turned to the source.

“Yo!” Jane greeted. “Trent. What are you doing here?” she asked, confused and vaguely suspicious.

“Oh, you know, whatever,” answered the barely-awake musician.

“Do Mom and Dad know you left the house voluntarily?” Jane asked.

Trent sighed. “I'm not sure how to break it to them,” he said, playing into the joke as he slouched lower in the chair and lifted a leg to support himself against the chair in front. “You got any ideas?”

“No,” Jane admitted, then turned back the other way – being sandwiched between her friend and her brother. “How about you, Daria?” she asked with a hint of a smirk and an arched brow.

Trent bent forward enough to look around Jane, and smiled at the bespectacled girl. “Hey Daria,” he greeted smoothly.

“Hi,” Daria answered, but found herself unable to say anything more.

“No really,” Jane said, turning back to her brother. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, you know, checkin' it out. Thought I'd get used to being around fashion types,” he said. “You know, for the future.”

“Trent, what are you talking about?” Jane asked flatly.

“You know, models,” he said, and pointed at the stage. “Musician,” he said, and pointed to himself.

“Save the effort,” Daria advised, focusing on her sister as she cat-walked. “Those girls are still shallow and petty, and would not dig the tattoos and piercings. But, the agency people wanted me and Jane up there too.”

“But Daria only models for me,” Jane said with a triumphant, wicked grin. “And I scared 'em off.”

Trent bent around Jane again to give Daria a roguish smirk. “Don't blame 'em for bein' interested,” he told her.

Daria clammed up and tried not to blush.

Meanwhile, guys from the audience were drawn up on stage to be 'partners' for the girls to pose with, and then they were asked to remove their shirts, and then Li arrived and was promptly  _displeased_ with what she saw. It seemed that even she had standards for student behaviour that would not be appeased by added school funding.

“Uh-oh,” Daria said without any feeling.

“They're all going to 'kitty heaven',” Jane remarked, recalling a comment made by Claude (pronounced 'cloud') earlier in the workshop.

“I knew I should have stayed home,” Trent commented.

“Alright, show's over,” Daria declared, and stood from her seat. “I'm going to make a phone call.”

The phone call was to get a well-paying group to come to the school and offer an  _alternative_ future-employment class. One that Ms Li would not approve of, even with the settlement agreed upon to let them come and offer the course.

~lalaLAlala~

As the final kicker for the whole mess, it was  _Kevin_ that got the modelling contract, and not any of the girls at all. Quinn was not amused.

Jane and Trent, on the other hand, were both deeply amused.

Trent chuckled, coughed, and said “their loss,” with a smile on his face, while Jane poked Daria into a slightly different position in the middle of the living room.

“What? You think they should have signed one of the girls from the Fashion Club?” Jane asked her brother incredulously. “Three of those girls are so stupid they paid fifty bucks each to keep Daria and me from telling their folks they skipped school once.”

“Naw,” Trent answered with a shake of his head. “I meant Daria, actually.”

Jane smiled. “There, I can agree with you, but that's not something I'm going to complain about,” she answered.

“Right here,” Daria pointed out flatly. “Can hear every word you say.”

“Actually, that reminds me, am I ever going to hear that poem of yours about the mall?” Jane asked.

“You mean the one with 'repository of human greed and debasement'?” Daria checked. “I have, amazingly enough, written more than just the one poem on the evil den of commercialism.”

“You really have a way with words, Daria,” Trent complimented.

“And you didn't get to hear her tale of Melody Powers,” Jane said with a smirk.

“Ah yes,” Daria reminisced dryly, again focusing on Jane rather than her brother to make sure she remained capable of oration. “The story that sent the football team marching through the streets wanting to stone the Russian Embassy that we don't even have.”

“So, the poetry?” Jane asked.

“There is a maxim for writers that goes like this: be someone upon whom nothing is lost,” Daria quoted. “It goes with an excellent piece of advice: always have something to write _on_ and something to write _with_ within arms reach. There's a notebook in my bag,” she said. “I write everything down in that. Good ideas get hashed out, and final poems get finalised into a separate notebook, while essays and prose get typed. I keep another notebook to hash out tunes on, and then the final results get re-copied, with the poem, into yet another notebook.”

“That's a lot of paper,” Jane noted.

Trent stood from where he'd been sitting and moved to pick up Daria's bag.

“But then, I go through pages of the stuff myself,” Jane continued, and quickly turned to the next page of the sketchbook she was working in as Trent re-settled next to Daria. _Close_ to Daria.

The girl in question stiffened a little, and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks, but she managed to keep herself otherwise 'normal'.

Trent was always the one who broke things off with his on-again off-again girlfriend Monique, and he was also never the one to initiate the make-up. Well, okay, there had been that  _one_ time, the  _first_ time they'd broken up. Monique had both dumped Trent (inspiring the song  _Icebox Woman_ ) and then come crawling back to him without prompting from anybody almost exactly a week later.

Trent had kind of figured out during that week that, as compatible as he and Monique may be, they couldn't really do the long-term relationship thing. Still, he took her back, and continued to take her back, because he was a bit too lazy to fight the issue.

Currently, Trent was single. He'd broken up with Monique for the seventy-fifth time about four days ago. Currently, he was just about  _snuggled_ up to Daria as he rested his chin on her shoulder and read her notebook, which he'd set on her lap, and asked her questions about how she'd put some of the lines together.

Focused on her work, Daria managed to slowly relax. Despite the serious invasion of her personal space by her best (and only) friend's older brother.

Jane smiled to herself as she sketched the scene, no need for poking at all. Half-way done, Jane decided that she'd need a lot of practice to do the picture justice, and quietly slipped away to get a camera. Or two.

Thankfully for her, the room was well-lit enough that she didn't have to worry about the camera flash distracting the cute pair from their own version of creative genius, and if they were distracted, they wouldn't notice her, and if they didn't notice her, then they wouldn't tell her to put the camera away.

Jane smiled, and continued to quietly click away from as many angles as she could get. She even pulled out the extra-zoom lens so she could get right in their faces without  _physically_ getting right in their faces.


	6. Chapter 6

_There are no great men, buster. There are only men._ \- Elaine Stewart

~lalaLAlala~

It became a suddenly bad day when Ms Barch decided to break up Brittany and Kevin for a science project, and landed Daria with the thick-headed footballer. Daria wasn't sure why she was being punished for Kevin's stupidity, particularly since she was one of Barch's favourite students (Daria knew just how to word things to the very bitter woman's satisfaction), but considering the woman's Freudian Slip, guessed that she was actually running her own experiment to see if  _Kevin_ could be trained in proper behaviour.

Daria decided she'd add an extra report on how she handled being partnered with the idiot – which ended up in setting him in front of the TV to watch the Pigskin Channel with her dad. When Brittany came over, fearing for her relationship, Daria decided against messing with the girl. She didn't want to risk the blonde finding a way to ruin the project out of fear for her relationship.

“See?” Daria said as she welcomed Brittany into the house. “He's just sitting on the couch watching TV with my dad, in the lounge room, while I get on with the project in the garage. Quinn may be trying to get herself an 'older' boyfriend, but Kevin isn't really aware enough of her presence with the TV on.”

Brittany breathed a deep sigh of relief. “He's still my Kevvy?” she asked.

“Yours, and only yours,” Daria agreed. “In fact, feel free to come over any time Kevin is here, and keep him company. I don't really want him and my dad bonding too much.”

“Thanks Daria.”

When she presented the maze, mouse, and written report to Ms Barch, she got a 'very good' for her verbal report, and top marks for the paper when she got it back. Including the extra credit part that had included how she'd used positive reinforcement to keep Kevin away from the project entirely, so that she could work in peace and he couldn't screw it up.

“So, how did you do?” Daria asked Jane as she set her paper into a plastic sleeve in a folder. She'd revisit it later. This positive and negative reinforcement project had potential in the prose and poetry section of her life.

“Pretty good,” Jane answered with a smirk, and held up her paper. It there was a nice, big 'B+' screaming from the top right corner in red ink. “I included how my partner dealt with their brat baby sister at the same time, extrapolated a bit, and included a couple of relevant anecdotes that mentioned my brothers. Nothing like as verbose as you, but I got some good comparisons in.”

“Congratulations,” Daria praised with a smile.

“So, you feel like coming over tomorrow after school?”

“Absolutely,” Daria agreed. “Shall I bring my notebook or my guitar?”

“Bring both,” Jane suggested. “And clothes to spend the night in. We can order pizza, watch a couple of bad movies, and then you can practice in peace for as long as you like.”

“Sounds good to me,” Daria agreed with a smile and a nod.

~lalaLAlala~

“Oh, hey, Daria?” Quinn started, voice laced with metaphorical sugar and particularly innocent and pleasant. “What are you doing Saturday night?”

“Quinn, I don't like kids,” Daria answered, well aware that she was about to try and get her to take over the babysitting job she was supposed to be at that night, but had _also_ arranged a date for at the same time. “I didn't like kids when I _was_ a kid. That said,” she added quickly before Quinn could start her protests. “How much?”

“The Guptys pay six bucks an hour,” Quinn answered. “And I'll add an extra two per hour, since it would be a favour to me and I know you don't like doing favours, occasional tutoring aside.”

“Make it four, and an additional ten bucks if I have to interact with Mr and/or Mrs Gupty for more than fifteen minutes, and you've got a deal,” Daria said plainly.

“Done,” Quinn agreed quickly.

As a bonus, Daria would be able to work on her history assignment, could take her guitar with her, and the babysitting job got her out of having to participate in her parents 'couples workshop'.

All the same, Daria called Jane for back-up before she even left the house, and Jane promised to be at the Guptys no later than eight-thirty-five.

~lalaLAlala~

The home of the Guptys was... unnerving, and quite without meaning to, she called Mrs Gupty “Mrs Cupie” – like the doll – when the woman answered the door. Thankfully, that slip was prevented from being potentially repeated when Daria was invited to call the woman by her given name.

The house was just as unnerving on the inside, but then, that suited the whole family. They were all of them dimpled, even without smiling, and the first thing the younger of the two kids said when their parents were gone was “is it time to floss yet?”

“No,” Daria answered. “It's only _almost_ eight-fifteen, at which point the discussion of current events may begin. Flossing isn't until eight-forty-five. I suggest you use the time between now and eight-fifteen to think of which current events you would like to discuss. Or, for that matter, we could discuss what makes something an event, or even what qualifies as 'current',” Daria suggested, then pulled her guitar case onto her lap. “And while you kids think of that, I'm going to practice my fingering,” she said firmly.

In this environment, working on a history assignment about the Jonestown Massacre – with a focus on brainwashing and mind control – was probably a bad idea. More likely she'd write it when she got home and could more properly reflect on the evening with Tricia and Tad Gupty.

“Is Quinn really your sister?” Tad queried.

“Yes,” Daria answered plainly, and paused a moment to tune a string.

“Then how come her hair is so much bouncier than yours?” Tricia politely demanded to know.

“Because Quinn uses all sorts of products to make her hair that way, whereas I only use shampoo to clean it, conditioner to make it easier to brush, and a brush to get the knots out,” Daria answered, and pulled out her 'rough ideas' notebook.

“Sisterly comparisons begin with hair” was jotted down, and then she returned to her fingering practice.

“What are you writing?” Tad enquired.

“Well, I like to write poetry based on my life experiences,” Daria explained. “And sometimes I write prose to express ideas that may, or may not, be my own.”

“What about music?” Tricia wanted to know. “Do you play songs written by other people, or do you write your own? And why do you have band-aids on your fingers?”

“I nearly never play songs other people wrote,” Daria answered, as she continued her fingering practice. “I write my own tunes based on poetry I've written. As for why I have band-aids on my fingers, that's because I tend to practice until my fingers bleed.”

“Why would you do that? Self-harm is bad,” Tricia pointed out.

“But practice is good, and it doesn't hurt that much. Every time I practice until my fingers bleed, my fingers get a little bit tougher after they heal up, supporting the old maxim 'that which does not kill us, makes us stronger',” Daria explained.

“Wait... you said _your own_ ideas,” Tad said with a confused frown on his face.

“Yep,” Daria said. “It's important to be able to think for yourself.”

“Wow, Mom and Dad never told us _that_ ,” Tricia said softly.

“And you believe everything adults tell you?” Daria asked.

“Well, yes,” the kids answered together.

“And what happens then, when two adults say different things?” Daria probed.

Tad froze in his seat, and then started crying.

“Your mean!” Tricia informed Daria.

Daria sighed and put away her guitar. “No,” she told the kids. “I was asking a valid question with no ill intentions. For example, Quinn claims that being attractive and popular is the most important thing.”

“That's... a little bit shallow,” Tad said as he wiped away the tears.

Daria nodded. “My parents continue to say that getting good grades at school and getting into a good college is the most important thing.”

“A good education _is_ important,” Tricia agreed solemnly.

“As for me, I think that while good grades and getting into a good college is important, it isn't the most important thing, and how I look or how popular I am in high school doesn't really matter,” Daria explained to the kids. “I think the most important thing is figuring out who I am, where I stand on important matters, as well as knowing why, and being comfortable with that.”

“Why is that so important?” Tad asked with that confused look on his face again.

“Because if I have those things, then I'll be able to be confident in myself and my beliefs as I go through life and people are questioning me about them,” Daria told him, and checked the clock.

It was eight-thirty.

“Alright, time for your snack, and then the flossing,” Daria said.

“Yay!” the kids exclaimed, clearly more excited about the flossing than the snack.

~lalaLAlala~

The snack was raisins, which were, according to Tad, nature's candy.

“And yet they cover them in chocolate to sell them at the movies,” Daria quipped.

“Sugar is bad,” Tricia said firmly, and angry frown on her face.

“Sugar rots your teeth,” Tad agreed, and equally displeased expression on his features.

“Sugar makes you hyper,” Tricia continued.

“Hitler ate sugar,” Tad finished.

Daria raised an eyebrow at the kids. This got poured into their brains by somebody, and she was more than willing to point the finger at their parents. Quinn wouldn't even think of coming up with this.

“And each raisin is _naturally_ more than fifty percent sugar,” she told them flatly.

The children gasped in horror.

Daria shook her head. “Kids, sugar isn't, in an of itself,  _bad_ . An  _excess_ of sugar, or indeed, of anything can be bad for you, but actually the human body needs a certain amount of sugar for healthy brain activity. Having low blood-sugar is a genuinely dangerous thing and causes all sorts of health problems.”

Hesitant now, rather than enthusiastic, the kids ate their raisins.

The doorbell rang just as they were finishing.

“Alright, go and floss, and I'll see who's at the door,” Daria instructed.

“Hooray!” the kids cheered, and ran off to the bathroom to floss.

“Hey,” Jane greeted when Daria opened the door. “How's it been so far?”

“Welcome to Jonestown,” Daria answered her friend as she stepped aside to let her into the house.

Jane's eyes widened. Of course she got the reference, since they'd just covered it in DeMartino's history class, but that was a serious accusation to be making. She turned to look around at the lawn ornaments, and then looked back to Daria.

“I believe you,” she said. “But kids are corruptible, and their parents aren't anywhere to be seen.”

Daria nodded. “And I've already made a beginning,” she agreed. “You didn't bring any junk food with you by any chance?” she asked hopefully.

“Nope. Sorry,” Jane apologised.

With Jane for reinforcements, getting the kids dressed for bed was much easier, and telling the kids adulterated bedtime stories was fairly enjoyable. The kids liked it too.

“How do we know that what you tell us is the truth?” Tricia asked, a little suspiciously.

Daria had finally gotten it into the kids to at least question the truth of what they were told, and was glad to be able to answer her “You don't.”

Tricia sat back, not sure how to take that.

“And that's the greatest lesson of all,” Daria continued easily.

“We made up that bit about aliens living under the north pole,” Jane added with a smile.

“I thought so,” Tricia said with a smile.

Jane laughed, proud. “The kid's gonna be alright,” she informed Daria happily.

“As long as you both continue to question what you're told, investigate your information, and form your own opinions,” Daria told the kids with a smile. “Alright, into bed with the two of you.”

“Okay.”

When it was just Daria and Jane awake in the house, Jane managed to get past the blocker on the TV and the set blared out  _Sick Sad World_ .

Daria sighed in gratitude, and pulled out her homework. She could face writing an essay on mind control and brainwashing and Jonestown now. Then Tad and Tricia came down asking for a drink of water – and were promptly distracted by mud-wrestling on the TV.

“Just don't tell your folks we let you stay up late,” Daria warned them, after having been praised as their favourite babysitter.

It seemed they'd forgotten she'd been 'mean' by suggesting that two adults could say completely opposite things.

“Such progress for only one night,” Jane said softly, with a smirk directed at Daria.

“My thoughts exactly,” she agreed, and returned to her essay: _A real-life experiment in mind-control de-programming; My night at the Guptys_.

Jane left when the show ended and the kids were returned to bed. Daria  _did_ have to be the only babysitter in the house when the Guptys got back after all.

Mr DeMartino loved the essay, though he did point out that her original research, though thought-provoking, would be considered a felony in most states.


	7. Chapter 7

_Every suicide is a solution to a problem._ \- Jean Baechler

~lalaLAlala~

“Hello! Quinn's cousin or something!” a girl called down the hall.

Daria and Jane turned, and recognised Sandi Griffin, president of the Fashion Club, waving to them and holding the arm of another girl in her hand. For some bizarre reason, she wanted her over there. Of course, Quinn was also there and waving frantically for Daria to stay away.

“Shall we investigate?” Jane asked.

“Well, Quinn wants me to stay away, so I feel somewhat compelled to go over,” Daria answered, and turned her feet towards the shallow end of the hallway.

“So, Quinn's little friend, or whatever,” Sandi said, “take a look at this,” she requested.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” Daria asked.

“It's Brooke's new nose,” Tiffany supplied. “Isn't it cute?”

Daria sighed and looked over at Jane.

Jane nodded. “Do it,” she agreed.

Daria raised her glasses from her face so that the frames held back her hair, and her face was clear to be seen.

The girls all gasped in shock.

“She looks... like a totally different person...” Stacy whispered.

“So... _beyond_ cute...” Tiffany agreed, stunned.

“But... no make up...” Sandi contributed, confused. “And... badly dressed.”

Jane lay a hand on the shoulder of a near-tears Brooke. “Your fake nose is good,” she consoled the girl. “But hers is natural. Put 'em back on Daria. We wouldn't want you to get mobbed.”

Daria nodded and lowered her glasses back to her face. “Don't worry,” she told Brooke as she turned to leave. “It'll grow out.”

Jane chuckled as she fell in beside her friend. “This... has the potential to be interesting,” she said.

“And Ms Barch is conducting an experiment on how physical appearance alters perception at the same time,” Daria agreed.

Jane smiled. “And won't stop until Kevin's ego is destroyed,” she agreed happily.

Quinn didn't recover from the shock of Daria showing everybody how good she looked naturally behind her glasses until all the excitement about plastic surgery was ended – which happened rather abruptly when Brooke's new nose  _collapsed_ .

~lalaLAlala~

Daria had been invited to another Mystik Spiral gig at the Zon, and had also been invited to play during the band's break between sets. Mystik Spiral made two-hundred dollars per gig at the Zon, which between the four guys was fifty bucks each. Daria, since she only played during the break, and didn't have anyone to split the money with, got a hundred bucks when she played.

“Almost makes a guy want to try for a solo career,” Trent commented to Jane as he and the rest of the band had drinks and watched Daria perform.

“Dude,” Jesse said, shocked at his friend. “You're not saying you'd sell out, are you?”

Trent shook his head. “Nah man, just... got a use for the cash, ya know?”

“I hear you man,” Nick agreed solemnly. “I hear you.”

Nick had a kid with his girlfriend, and as well as being a member of the Spiral and getting fifty bucks a gig with them, he did freelance DJ and MC gigs wherever and whenever he could for the extra cash so he could support them.

“What would you use it for?” Jane asked her brother with a teasing smirk. “New tattoo? Pizza feast?”

“Never you mind Janey,” Trent answered unhappily, and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. He wasn't going to make a list. He didn't really want Jane to know that he was the one covering all of their bills, but he managed to keep up with all the utility bills, the phone, Jane's school fees, and last month had finished paying off the mortgage on the house.

He may or may not have celebrated that by finding the deed and transferring ownership of Casa Lane from his parents to himself. They'd never know. It had taken him a week to find the deed in the first place (it was in the laundry), and now it was stashed in a zip-lock bag in a hollow space in the wall behind his  _Sisters of Mercy_ poster in his room. Safe and secure.

Of course, he also worked as a process server, delivering subpoenas. It was a low-risk, high-paying, and very casual job that helped out in a major way. It was also really the only reason he'd kept the collared shirts and suit jackets Monique had forced on him that one time she was trying to 'smarten up' his style.

Not that he let Jane know about that either. He had an image to uphold.

“Oh,” Jane said softly, and blinked in wide-eyed surprise. He'd never dodged a question like that before.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greeted, very subdued.

“Hey Monique,” Trent answered.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

Jane frowned as her brother walked off with the girl who currently wasn't his girlfriend, but probably would be again by the time Mystik Spiral had to get up and do their second set. She and Monique got on fine, when they had to, and mostly when they had occasion to talk it was very casual. They rarely got past enquiries as to how the Harpies were going. After that, conversation stopped, but there wasn't really any hostility.

Considering the way things had gone for Summer (with the kids always running away) and Wind (her other brother, who had to write two alimony cheques a month and was now married to a third woman), Jane  _really_ wanted something different for herself and Trent – and Monique didn't meet the Jane Lane Standard for Worthy Significant Other to her favourite brother. Any girl who, despite continuous crawling back, continued to do things that caused Trent to want to break up with her, was  _not_ worthy.

The problem was, while Jane was quite happy to play the field, date a guy, see if they worked out, move on if they didn't and try the next guy... Trent wasn't doing that. He'd break up with Monique, then take her back. No variety, no notion of having a better relationship with someone new... It worried her when she thought about it.

There wasn't anything she could really do about it though, so Jane just sighed unhappily and turned her attention back to Daria – who she'd love to see her brother dating, if the activity wouldn't see him being picked up by the cops for being in a relationship with someone who was still, legally if not mentally, a minor.

~lalaLAlala~

The gig went late, and rather than risk death getting a ride with Jane and Trent – as the latter would be driving, and he already looked like he was falling asleep – Daria got a ride with Nick. He had to go through her neighbourhood anyway. Also, his car (because it had to be safe enough for him to feel alright with his kid in it) was in better condition than any of the other options.

Quality second-hand and driven with greatest care.

“Thanks,” Daria said as she climbed out onto the pavement in front of her house.

“No problem,” Nick agreed. “Don't forget your guitar.”

“Never,” Daria answered, having already moved to the door of the back seat so that she could collect it.

“Well, see you around Daria,” Nick bid once both the doors were shut again.

Daria nodded, and watched as he drove off, then turned to face the door of her house, and dug her hand into her pocket for her key. Then she started creeping up the path to the door. She'd just as soon not wake her parents.

It was late after all.

“Hold it young lady,” said a voice from behind her.

Daria looked over her shoulder to find, of all people, Quinn. “Funny,” she answered dryly, and slipped her key into the lock.

“What are you doing out so late?” Quinn asked.

“As the elder sister – who is, by the way, still expecting you to get straight B's by the end of the year – I really think I should be the one asking you that,” Daria countered as she turned the key and quietly let herself in.

“I'm always out this late,” Quinn answered as she followed Daria in.

“Really?” Daria asked. “Suddenly your grade-average makes more sense.”

“Hey!” Quinn objected, a little too loudly.

Which drew the attention of their parents.

“Daria? Quinn?” Helen asked from the top of the stairs. “Do you feel like explaining to me why you're only just getting home at _this_ hour?”

“Gig ran late, and I was home faster waiting for the set to finish and getting a lift with one of the guys from the band than walking back half-way through,” Daria explained quickly.

“Gig? Band?” Quinn echoed, confused.

Daria only answered because she could see that Helen wanted to know as well. “Jane's older brother has a band. I play my gig while they take a break between sets. One of the guys in the band gave me a lift home when they were done, which was a bit later than usual tonight. For the first time ever, someone asked for an encore from them.”

“Well, I'm still not pleased with how late you were out,” Helen said lowly. “What about you, Quinn?” she asked dangerously.

Daria smirked. “Apparently, she's always out this late,” she said, before Quinn could come up with anything. “But, if you don't mind, I'm kinda beat, and I'd like to hit the hay.”

“Go ahead Daria,” Helen permitted, then rounded on her other daughter. “ _Always_ out this late, Quinn?”

“Dammit Daria!”

~lalaLAlala~

The next day, at a much more reasonable hour, Helen ordered the family into the living room to discuss the ramifications of her finding out just how late her girls had been out.

Rules were going to be enforced.

However, Helen was open to the possibility of these rules being discussed and agreed upon by the whole family, rather than her just handing down her judgement, already drawn up and written out like the stereotypical 'ten commandments' tablets. Of course, she had those in the wings as well, just in case.

“The bartering system we have going works well,” Daria offered. “It covers both positive and negative reinforcement.”

“Agreed,” Helen said.

“Grounding us as a punishment is a bad idea,” Daria continued. “It would take up your valuable time to supervise, and that's not always going to be feasible. Extra chores or loss of certain privileges is much more manageable, and easier to enforce on your part.”

Helen sighed. “Also agreed,” she admitted. She had been thinking of grounding Quinn for apparently being out so late regularly, but a bit of thought and she could understand how that would be detrimental to the general sanity of the family as a whole. “There  _will_ be a curfew from now on though,” she insisted. “And it  _will_ be kept.”

“Will there be allowances made for accidental lateness?” Daria asked. “Traffic, unexpected deluge of rain, that sort of thing?”

Helen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “A few minutes is forgivable,” she allowed. “But if you know you're going to be later than curfew for some reason, you are to call and let us know. Furthermore, we'll set up a book by the front door where we will  _all_ sign in and out whenever we're coming or going. Where we're going, what time we leave and expect to be back, and what time we actually  _do_ make it home.”

“This can't be happening,” Quinn bemoaned from her seat opposite Jake. “Can I be excused? I have a date.”

“If you're willing to surrender all opportunity to have any say in the rules of this house,” Helen allowed archly. “But be aware, I fully intend on instituting a no-dates-on-school-nights rule.”

“I can't break a commitment,” Quinn countered. “We had this discussion already, remember Mom?”

Helen sighed. She had said that. Multiple times. “Curfew is ten-thirty,” she warned her daughter. “Your father and I will still be awake then and will note if you aren't back on time. But this had better be your last date on a school night.”

“Okay!” Quinn chirped, and headed for the door.

“It might be an idea to set down standardised penalties for failure to comply,” Daria offered. “But, beyond what we've covered, I can't think of anything. Just... please don't make it against the rules for me to question you. Questioning authority is something I enjoy doing, regardless of if I'm seriously questioning that authority or only doing it for fun.”

“Oh... alright Daria,” Helen agreed, albeit a little unhappily.

Daria raised an eyebrow at her mother from behind her glasses. “Why do I get the feeling that 'no questioning the parents' was rule one on the list you were ready to hand down?” she asked.

“Because it was,” Helen answered.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria got in a good bit of entertainment that month. Quinn was out way past the designated curfew, and the entertainment that was 'family court', came to be displayed.

Quinn on one side as the defendant, Helen on the other as the prosecution, and Jake presiding as judge.

She was stripped of her phone privileges beyond simply answering when it rang, as it was a first-offence under the new rules and curfew, so she was given leniency for forgetting something so recently handed down.

Quinn was still free to go out with her friends and attend 'Fashion Club' meetings, but had to be back by dinner, and for a week she would  _not_ be going out again afterwards for  _any_ reason. She was simultaneously encouraged to work on bringing her grades up, since she wouldn't have anything else to do in the evenings.

As soon as she was 'free', Quinn got herself a date, and foolishly got it for a school night, which was against the rules. Rules that had been on prominent display by the door since they had all been settled upon. Back to family court she went.

While Quinn was 'suffering', Daria bought tickets to the teachers versus classic-rock DJs hockey match that was coming up. She wouldn't have, but with an explanation of what could be expected from Jane and Jodie, Daria was glad to dip into her allowance and fork out the fiver.

“Hey Daria, Jane, what are you going to put in the DeMartino pool?” Jodie asked as she slipped in to sit with the duo at lunch. “Mac thinks it'll happen early on, because of adrenaline. I've got third period, two minutes in. It's prime time for cramping.”

“I'm down for half-time violence seeing him get carted away,” Jane answered.

“My money says there'll be a point where he _looks_ downed, but he gets back up again and survives the rest of the game,” Daria added.

“Gutsy of you,” Jane noted with an arched brow.

Daria shook her head. “Mr DeMartino isn't the only one who I've seen getting ready for this thing,” she said. “Ms Barch is also looking forward to it.”

Jodie's eyes widened. “Oh my,” she said. “That puts a whole new slant on it. I mean, there's no love lost between her and Mr DeMartino, but...”

“Now that I think about it, Ms Barch hasn't actually been here for the roller hockey match since she started teaching at Lawndale, has she?” Jane asked.

Jodie shook her head. “Something always came up,” she agreed. “Very deliberately.”

“But I have it on good authority that 'Rock-n-Roll Randy' -” Daria began with a smile

“The DJ who was involved in Mr DeMartino's incident last year?” Jane clarified, looking to Jodie for confirmation, since Daria wouldn't know.

Jodie nodded.  
“Is Ms Barch's infamous ex,” Daria finished softly with a confidential smirk on her face.

The other two girl's eyes went wide.

“Of course you know, this changes everything,” Jane told Jodie plainly.

Daria walked away from the roller hockey game with the rather sizable DeMartino pool and a smile on her face. The kid who was managing the bets didn't let people change their minds after they'd put in their money, and there was a limit of  _one_ bet per student, so Jane and Jodie hadn't been able to change their minds after their little chat with Daria.

She would be able to afford that cabin in Montana before she graduated from high school.


	8. Chapter 8

_The price one pays for pursuing any profession or calling is an intimate knowledge of its ugly side._ \- James Baldwin

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was working on a new piece (poetry, rather than anything musical this time) while Jane attacked large objects with her sci-fi convention worthy glue gun when the destructive force of jarring chords through an amplifier destroyed a piece of sculpture that was, according to Jane, a week's worth of work. Daria created a sharp, black line through her notebook in her shock.

“Shall we go down and complain to Trent about the noise?” Jane suggested.

“How did I not notice how _loud_ they were when you dragged me along to their gigs?” Daria asked, even as she put her notebook away and stood to follow her friend.

“The guys who own the pubs they play in require that patrons be able to make their orders without having to yell to be heard over the music,” Jane explained.

Trent and Jesse were practising  _Icebox Woman_ when the two girls reached the basement.

“Yo Trent!” Jane yelled, grabbing the attention of the two guitarists enough that they stopped playing. There was just the echo of the noise to be heard over. “You want to turn it down a bit?” Jane requested.

“Are you kidding?” Trent countered with a smirk. “Hey Daria,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Daria answered.

“What do you think of the song?” Trent asked her. “You've heard it before, but we never really got around to asking.”

“It has a beat, and you can dance to it,” Daria answered. “If you have no shame,” she added.

“Damn,” Trent said softly.

“Harsh,” Jesse chorused.

“Fair though,” Trent allowed unhappily. “What about the name of the band?”

“Mystik Spiral sounds like a Doors cover band that plays brew-pubs,” Daria admitted.

“Ha!” Jane laughed. “They wish!”

“Hmm... would it help if we spelled 'Mystik' with _two_ Y's?” Trent asked.

“And I'll spell my name D-A-R- _Y_ -A, and be crowned 'Miss America',” Daria quipped sarcastically, a lot more comfortable saying what she thought around him after having spent an afternoon with Trent explaining how she wrote her poetry. Daria shook her head, dismissing those thoughts for now. “Try dropping the 'Mystik' altogether,” she suggested. “Just be 'the Spiral', it's how you guys refer to the band a lot of the time anyway.”

“She's got a point,” Jesse said to Trent. “I shouldn't have written the first band-name we came up with on my guitar case with a permanent marker.”

“Permanent markers aren't actually all that permanent,” Jane offered. “Provided you know the right ways to clean it off.”

“And you do,” Daria guessed.

“Yep! About half-a-dozen different ways, actually,” Jane answered proudly. “If you guys are doing a gig this weekend, then I'll clean off the 'Mystik' while you're sleeping it off.”

Trent shook his head. “We're going to Alternapalooza,” he said, a proud smirk on his face and one hand curled into a triumphant fist.

He'd managed to pay all the bills that month with cash left over, now that the mortgage was paid off, so going to the concert was a bit of a reward for his hard work, as far as he was concerned. Even if the concert was free, the trip to get there wouldn't be.

“You're going to Alternapalooza?!” Jane echoed, enthusiastic about the idea. Then promptly slapped herself with reality. “You think your car will make it?” she asked seriously.

“We're borrowing Max's van, _The Tank_ ,” Jesse said. “It's indestructible.”

“Yeah,” Trent agreed, and caught that look in Jane's eye. “But you know Jess, that thing eats gas,” he continued. “I don't know what we're gonna do for gas money.”

That was all the invitation his little sister needed.

“I could probably scrounge some up,” Jane offered quickly. “ _If_ you let us come along,” she added, and looked over at Daria. “We'd enjoy that, wouldn't we Daria?” she suggested/begged pleasantly.

“Actually, I think I would,” Daria agreed. “But I reserve the right to bring along an old guitar string to silence you with if you get annoying on the drive,” she added to Jane.

“Okay, cool. We're there,” Trent said happily, and shared a pleased look with Jesse before turning back to the girls. “If you can stand being cooped up in a van with Jess an' me for four hours.”

Daria took a moment to think about that. She'd seen The Tank. “If the inside has been cleaned this week, I think I should be able to survive the experience,” she decided.

Trent and Jesse chuckled.

“Right,” Trent agreed. “Might be a good idea. Think Max still has a peanut-butter sandwich in the back there from when he first got it.”

“You clean out the old lunches, I'll arrange to pack some fresh ones,” Daria promised. “Four hours on the road, we'll get hungry, and probably need coffee.”

“Deal,” Jesse agreed quickly, eyes wide and eager at the prospect of someone bringing food along on their road trip.

“Yes!” Jane cheered. “We're going to Alternapalooza!”

~lalaLAlala~

For the occasion, and because as much as the guys  _said_ they'd clean out The Tank, Daria wasn't sure she trusted it, Daria swapped out her usual skirt for a pair of jeans. She then made simple lunches and bagged them up into four brown paper bags, poured a full pitcher of percolated coffee into a thermos, and grabbed her dad's old six-string.

Like hell she was risking her twelve-string on a road trip in a vehicle that lacked back seats.

Jake even gave her a twenty to spend on souvenirs before she left the house. That was pretty cool, particularly since she was fairly sure she wouldn't get any, and that meant she was another twenty dollars closer to her Montana cabin.

“Ooh-lala!” Jane teased when she arrived at the Morgendorffer house to wait with Daria. Trent and Jesse had gone to collect The Tank, and would be along shortly. “Is that lipstique?” she asked her friend.

“No,” Daria answered flatly. “Among the many other treats I packed into our lunches, there are lollipops for extra, pure-sugary goodness. I was sucking on one that was extra after dividing the bag by four.”

“You ready to go?” Trent asked from behind the wheel when they pulled up. “Sorry there's only two seats up here, but there's plenty of space in the back.”

“We cleaned it though!” Jesse added as he pulled the handle to the sliding door from his seat, opening it for the girls. It was true. They _had_ cleaned it. Every vintage stain that had decorated the interior was gone. There weren't even any wrappers lying around. There was still a fair bit of interesting, miscellaneous junk, but nothing that was even vaguely food related, and nothing that looked like it needed to find a new home at the landfill.

“Impressive,” Jane complimented.

“And I made lunches,” Daria answered with a nod. “Where should I put them?”

“Stash 'em in the trunk,” Jesse suggested, and pointed to the piece of luggage that served as rear-section seating for the van.

“Daria, why don't you sit up front with Trent?” Jane suggested, that teasing smile returning to her face. She had yet to let her friend even know about the pictures she'd taken that day Trent had practically snuggled up to her and gotten advice to help improve his lyrics. Trent didn't know about them either.

“For one, because Jesse is already sitting there,” Daria said plainly as she slung her dad's guitar into the back and popped open the trunk in question to stash the food. “And for two, I'm not sure I trust you where I can't reach your neck.”

“Hey, no problem,” Jesse said, not catching the second part, and easily slipped out of his seat at the front. “There you go,” he offered Daria.

“You just want to be closer to the food, don't you?” Daria asked the young man, her tone wry and not in the least accusatory.

“You got busted, Jess,” Trent said with a chuckle. “C'mon up here Daria,” he half-way ordered, a crooked, amused smile on his face as he gestured to the chair his friend had just vacated.

Daria finished stashing the bagged lunches in the trunk, shut it, and then shifted herself and the thermos of coffee up to the front of the van. Meanwhile, Jane sat on the trunk before Jesse could open it again and take a peek at the lunches Daria had packed for them.

“What are you working on right now?” Trent asked Daria as he pulled the van away from the curb.

“I've got four essays due next week,” Daria answered flatly. “I really only have time to practice my fingering right now, what with the time I'm taking out for this concert. I've got a notebook and pen stashed in my guitar-case though, if I need them,” she added.

“Cool.”

Before long, they'd reached the toll booths that would let them onto the freeway.

“Hey Jane, got any change?” Trent asked, not even looking over his shoulder as he held up a hand. He could have paid the toll from the money he had in his pockets, but actually, he was checking to see if Jane had kept anything back to spend on herself for this trip.

“Hey Trent, got any _shame_?” Jane countered. “I already gave you all my cash.”

Trent frowned to himself as he went for his pockets. So she  _hadn't_ kept anything back for herself. He didn't even look at the guy manning the toll booth as he handed over the fee.

Apparently, Jesse did though. “Oh man, that was Curtis Stalano,” Jesse said, shocked, as they drove on.

“Who?” Jane asked.

“He graduated with us,” Trent supplied. “Now he's working in a toll booth,” he said, and the realisation kind of struck him. “Woah.”

“You'd never catch me in a job like that,” Jesse said firmly.

Daria resisted the urge to make a snide remark about the reason for that being that it would fall under the category of 'employment'.

“Hey man, we're artists,” Trent declared, a thumb jabbed at himself. “Who knows where we'll be in five years.”

“Still living over your parent's garage?” Daria offered.

“Hey, we've got a vision,” Jesse defended.

“Eyes on the prize man,” Trent agreed. “Eyes on the prize. Though,” he added with a sardonic glance at Daria, “you're probably not wrong, unless something changes.”

“But we're _not_ about selling out!” Jesse said firmly.

“Because for that to happen, you'd need someone interested in buying,” Jane quipped.

“Workin' on it,” Trent grumbled, and they drove in silence for a couple of minutes before Trent noticed a sign, and decided to read it aloud rather than permit the slightly uncomfortable silence to continue any longer. “If you lived here, you'd be home by now.”

“And bored out of your mind,” Daria returned sharply.

Jesse, Jane, and Trent all laughed.

“Good one, Daria,” Trent complimented happily. The tension of the uncomfortable silence was effectively relieved. Now, comfortable silence could settle in. Just in time for Trent to hit an animal that had chosen that moment to run across the road. “Sorry,” he said to Jesse and Jane, who had both been jolted off the trunk and onto the floor of the van. “Didn't see that one coming.”

“Let us know if you _do_ see one coming,” Jane requested, a little sharply, as she hauled herself back up onto the make-shift seat.

~lalaLAlala~

“Killer bee alert!” Jane called out from the back suddenly.

“Great,” Daria quipped.

“Hey Daria, pass me that map?” Jane requested, even as she kept her eyes on the dangerous bug in question.

Obligingly, Daria grabbed the map, rolled it up, and passed it back to her friend.

“C'mere,” Jane instructed, swinging and missing. “Stupid...” another swing and a miss. “Hold still Jesse,” she instructed. “You're mine, sting-boy!”

A swing, and a  _hit_ .

Daria and Trent up the front both winced at the sound of the slap.

“Ouch,” Jesse complained. “It stung me.”

“He'll never do it again,” Jane promised as she passed the map forward to Daria once more.

“Can I have something to eat?” the abused young man requested, one hand reaching for the latch of the trunk where the lunches had been stashed.

“Daria?” Jane enquired. “You packed the lunches.”

“And you're the one who'll have to sit on the floor while he gets them out,” Daria countered.

“Or we could save 'em,” Trent suggested. “Anything in them going to spoil?” he asked Daria.

“No.”

“In that case, I'll pull into the diner up ahead. They probably won't be open on the way back, and we'll be hungry again by then,” Trent decided.

“Cool,” Jesse agreed, satisfied, and withdrew his hand from the latch of the trunk.

“You kids goin' to that rock-n-roll shindig out near Swedesville?” the waitress asked once she'd taken their order.

“No,” Daria answered, getting the attention of the waitress and all her dining companions. “We made a wrong turn on our trip to Paris,” she finished.

Her best friend, her best friend's brother, and _his_ best friend, all chuckled, amused.

“You got a mouth on ya, don't cha?” the waitress asked, apparently not impressed as she waved her pen at Daria.

“Why?” Daria asked.

“Ever thought of becomin' a waitress?” the woman asked, and seemed to be completely serious – apparently, appearances could be deceiving.

“Only in an abstract sense,” Daria answered, likewise serious. “I figured it would be an inevitable part of my career path, something to earn a bit of cash while I was looking for a break in what I _really_ wanted to do. Not quite ready to break into the normative workforce yet though. I'm doing well so far with taking advantage of my parents.”

The waitress nodded. “Smart kid,” she said with approval, and left the table.

“You, working tables Daria?” Trent asked, mildly stunned, then frowned to himself. “Wait... that didn't sound right.”

“That's because the question was rife with potential double meaning,” Jane quipped with a pleased smirk. “And 'working tables' is more likely something _Monique_ would do,” she added.

Trent hummed a moment in thought, staring at the ceiling, before he nodded in agreement.

“Who's Monique?” Daria asked.

“Currently, she's Trent's ex,” Jesse answered.

“Oh?” Jane asked. After all, last she knew, Trent had taken her back again.

“Monique wanted me to change my plans about going to Alternapalooza this weekend,” Trent explained. “And she told me she wanted me to change them yesterday. Too late for that,” he said firmly. “She knew I was going to Alternapalooza a couple of days before you did. If she had any motivation other than trying to be controlling, she should have said something much sooner.”

“You going to take her back again when she comes crawling in a couple of weeks?” Jane asked seriously.

Trent shrugged helplessly. “Probably,” he admitted.

“Dammit Trent!” Jane exclaimed, and thumped a fist down on the table unhappily. “She doesn't deserve a nice guy like you, and you don't deserve the way she treats you.”

Trent shrugged again. “Not really a whole lot of options though Janey,” he pointed out. “I'm not planning on ever settling into a permanent relationship with Monique, but...” and for a third time, he shrugged. “It's better than being single all the time.”

And all of a sudden, Trent somehow managed to resemble a kicked puppy.

“I need my notebook,” Daria decided.

Trent passed her the keys to the van.

“Thanks,” she said. “Be right back.”

~lalaLAlala~

About half an hour after leaving the diner, and five rounds into “I'm going to the picnic, and I'm bringing”, the supposedly indestructible Tank started to smoke, and Trent was forced to pull over or risk a  _serious_ accident.

Trent popped the hood, and Jesse began an inspection. The problem was soon discovered. A part of the engine had shaken completely loose, and its rattling around in the engine had caused other parts to overheat.

“What do we do now?” Jesse asked.

Jane was quick to put forth a suggestion. “There's a noise-wall up ahead,” she said. “There must be houses behind it. Daria, you and Trent wait here, while Jesse and I find a phone and call for help,” she instructed, not letting anybody else get a word in edge-ways. Then she smirked quietly over at her friend. “Great plan, huh?” she asked.

Daria didn't answer, but rather headed for the rear of the van to grab her dad's old six-string and her notebook. This prevented her from reaching for Jane's neck.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed with a smile. “It is,” he added, and went to get _his_ acoustic six-string out of the back as well. “Not leaving either of you girls on your own without us to take care of you if the worst happens, not sending either of us off on our own to forget what we were supposed to be doing in the first place.”

Jesse nodded his agreement, and gestured for Jane to take the lead.

Trent and Daria made themselves comfortable on the side of the road with their guitars in their laps.

“I didn't know you played a regular six-string as well Daria,” Trent commented.

“Yeah,” Daria answered. “Mom got me the twelve string not long after we got here. This one was Dad's. I saved it from being tossed out when we moved from Texas. The 'art' all over it isn't really my style though, so I don't bring it out in public much.”

Trent chuckled at that. The guitar was very hippie. Flowers, paisley, pink and purple and orange, with just enough green to set the three main colours apart... “Yeah, I can see that,” he agreed.

For a while, the two of them just sat, tuning their guitars.

Trent sighed, breaking the conversational silence, and turned to look Daria in the eye. “Daria, do you ever feel like maybe you  _are_ wasting your life?” he asked, and he sounded positively maudlin as he did.

“And suddenly, out of the blue, the conversation took a turn for the deep,” Daria commented to herself, and shifted the guitar in her lap so that she was resting on it, rather than the other way around. “Like how?” she asked him.

“Like, no money, you live in your parents house, but _you're_ the one with a job serving subpoenas to pay all the bills that are supposed to be _their_ responsibility, including the mortgage so _their_ house is more _your_ house now, and you _still_ can't play in open D tuning,” Trent said, a melancholic frown on his face. Sure he served due process occasionally, and sure it paid well, but... did that really count as a job? Delivering mail a few times a week, one letter per person, one person per delivery?

“Can't say I've had those _exact_ thoughts,” Daria admitted, silently impressed that Trent was paying all the bills of the Lane family household already.

“Uh, could you not tell Janey about my having a job?” Trent requested, having just realised he let slip exactly how responsible he actually really was. “Or, well, any of the rest of that stuff?”

Daria raised an eyebrow at him behind her glasses, but decided to agree. If he wanted to maintain the image of a total slacker to his sister, that was his business. “Sure.”

“Maybe I _will_ end up a townie doing _Doors_ covers,” Trent said, though the idea clearly didn't appeal to him. “I mean who's to say, right?”

“Ah,” Daria said, and now she could see what the real problem was, and what was troubling the guy. “Trent, it takes a lot of guts to go after a dream. Especially when you know that failure can mean you spend the rest of your life playing _LA Woman_... in public.”

“Hmm...” Trent allowed thoughtfully. “I guess.” He didn't sound satisfied though.

“And even if it doesn't work out, at least for now you're doing exactly what you want to,” Daria continued, utterly sincere.

The frown slowly tipped up into a grateful smile. “Yeah,” Trent agreed, and relaxed a little. “That's true.”

“A lot of people never even get _that_ far,” Daria pointed out.

“I guess I'm not doing too bad,” Trent decided. “You know, Daria? Sometimes it's hard to believe you're in high school.”

Daria smirked. “I find the situation unbelievable myself,” she returned, and would have been satisfied with that compliment, but then Trent went and added on another one.

“You're pretty cool,” he said.

Daria fully smiled, small as the smile was. “Thanks,” she said, and she meant that genuinely, because she knew that  _Trent_ had meant what  _he_ said genuinely. “Don't tell anyone though,” she jokingly warned.

“Our secret,” Trent agreed with a chuckle.

“I'll trade you a lesson in how to play open D tuning, if you'll show me how he hell strumming chords works,” Daria offered as she shifted her weight off the guitar and sat up straight again, hands going to their right places on the instrument.

Trent raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?” he asked. “You can't... strum?”

Daria shook her head. “I got straight into fingering. I honestly have no idea how to use a guitar pick, and any time I try strumming chords, with or without one, it always sounds wrong,” she explained, and even demonstrated.

Trent blinked at her, looked down at her guitar, and then looked up at Daria again. “You got a deal,” he agreed.

Jane and Jesse returned before the lesson could take place though.

“Any luck?” Trent asked them.

“The only thing behind the wall was a cornfield,” Jane answered. “And the corn wasn't very helpful.”

“Helpful corn...” Jesse mused. “Does that sound like a good band name?”

“It _sounds_ like something you eat to get your bowels moving again,” Daria replied.

Ultimately, Jane repaired The Tank with her sci-fi convention-worthy glue gun, and the van was good to go just in time for them to see other people who'd gone to the concert heading back the other way.

“So,” Jesse said. “Food?”

Trent nodded, and the lunches Daria had made were grabbed out of the back. The fearsome foursome ate, and then piled back into The Tank. If, on the drive home, Jane and Jesse fell asleep on each other – and looked very happy that way – neither Daria, nor Trent, made comment.


	9. Chapter 9

_People seem to enjoy things a lot more when they know other people have been left out on the pleasure._ \- Russell Baker

~lalaLAlala~

“So let me get this straight,” Jane said, incredulous. “You, Jake, Helen, and _Princess Grace_ are going _camping_? Like, _in the woods_ camping?”

“I hope the raging envy you're feeling won't affect our friendship,” Daria answered sarcastically.

“Shouldn't do,” Jane said with a sigh. “But, I actually _do_ envy you.”

“Then I'm afraid the fever has reached your brain,” Daria quipped.

“Oh no,” Jane cut in. “It's because of where _I'll_ be this weekend,” she explained as she opened a small round suitcase and started packing it. “The Lane Family Reunion. Dozens of Lanes from all across the country gathered in one mid-western split-level to remind themselves why they scattered in the first place.”

Daria frowned in confusion. “I would have thought your parents wouldn't be caught dead at one of those things,” she said.

“They wouldn't,” Jane answered, “and because of this, they send me and Trent in their places.”

“And... you're _actually_ going to go?” Daria asked.

“We're the black sheep of the family,” Jane admitted, “and our being there unites the rest of the family. Against us. It's the only reason we get invited. The parents are much too smart to fall for that trick. All the same, Dad has already organised plane tickets for me and Trent. Like I said, we're being sent as their representatives.”

“And you have to use them?” Daria pressed.

Jane halted her packing. “You raise an excellent point, _Amiga_ ,” she said, then smiled, pleased. “I'm going to just duck out and tell Trent to not bother packing.”

“Why should you go if you don't want to and you're not wanted?” Daria agreed with a nod.

Jane hurried off to tell her brother the new plan – miss the plane – and when she returned Trent was right behind her.

Without hesitation, he walked right up to Daria and hugged her.

“Thanks Daria,” Trent said when he pulled back. “I don't think I could have taken having to listen to Uncle Max telling me how much of a bum I am.”

“Trent, you're not a bum,” Daria offered, and she offered it sincerely too, which Trent really appreciated.

“Sure he is,” Jane said with a teasing smile as she wrapped an arm around Trent's shoulders fondly. “Why else would he have three piercings in each ear and Maori tattoos he got out of a magazine on his arms?”

“You mean there was a time _before_ the tattoos and the piercings?” Daria asked, her tone joking as she milked the situation.

Trent coughed. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, simultaneously embarrassed and amused at the ribbing he was getting.

“I even have photographic evidence!” Jane said brightly, and moved to one of her drawers, a determined expression settling on her face. “Somewhere,” she added, and started to rifle through the piles of pictures that were in that particular drawer. “Dammit!” she grumbled when she couldn't find what she was looking for.

Behind her, Trent was smirking.

“So, do either of you feel like coming with on the Morgendorffer camping trip this weekend?” Daria asked.

Jane looked up from the drawer she was searching. “ _Amiga_ , you solved the problem of us having to attend the Family Reunion. I'm sure watching your family try and survive in the woods would be miles more entertaining than loafing around the house with nothing to do,” she said, a smile on her face.

“I'm there,” Trent agreed. “Might come up with some interesting new songs. Janey, start makin' sandwiches and be sure to buy some marshmallows. I'll get out my old tent.”

“Gotcha,” Jane agreed.

Daria smiled. She really was very lucky to have friends like the Lane siblings.

~lalaLAlala~

“What's this?” Helen asked when Daria returned from school on Friday, Jane and a strange boy at her side, both of them wearing backpacks fit for a camping trip.

“Mom, you know Jane. This is Trent,” Daria started.

“Janey's older brother,” Trent said, presenting himself. “Nice to meet you Mrs Morgendorffer.”

“Oh, hello Trent, nice to meet you too,” Helen answered, and shook the offered hand.

“Daria mentioned to us that you were going camping this weekend,” Trent said. “We were wondering if we could come along?” he requested politely.

Helen blinked in surprise.

“Nothing like getting back to nature to inspire the artistic temperament,” Jane added. “And we already packed everything we'd need for a camping trip.”

“Please Mom?” Daria requested.

Helen sighed. “Oh, alright,” she agreed. “The more the merrier, I suppose.”

“Awesome,” Trent said with a smile.

~lalaLAlala~

Jake had tried to get everybody as 'chipper' as he thought they should be by singing _Give My Regards to Broadway_.

No one joined in, but no one commented on Jake's enthusiastic singing either. Trent was smiling a little bit though as he followed along at the back of the group with Jane and Daria.

“Isn't this great?!” Jake asked, a bright grin on his face as he finally came to a halt. “For the next seventy-two hours, we're going to live off what nature sends our way! See that stream? That's our drinking water! See those berries? That's our breakfast!”

“See that skeleton?” Daria asked, turning to a couple of rocks. “That's our future.”

Everybody else turned too.

“Made you look,” Daria said with a smirk.

Jane and Trent chuckled.

“Good one Daria,” Trent praised.

Jake coughed and made himself recover his cheer. “Isn't this great?” he asked again. “Total isolation!”

“No phone, no fax, no email, no voice mail,” Helen agreed, a blissful smile on her face as she went into raptures over the idea. “No _way_ to contact the outside world. What a luxury!”

“Tonight we'll tell _spooooooky_ stories around the camp fire,” Jake said with a grin. “Tomorrow, we hike 'til we drop!”

“Just like we used to,” Helen agreed.

Then Jake got a 'mellow' expression on his face. “Remember?” he asked Helen.

“You were so _relaxed_ in those days,” she agreed.

“So,” Trent said, interrupting the couple and their reminiscing. “We setting up camp here?”

“Yup!” Jake answered. “And doesn't all this beauty take you right out of yourself?”

“I think I'm getting a chill,” Daria said flatly as she removed her own hiking pack. “If you don't mind, I think I'm going to crawl back into myself for a while.”

Helen was less than impressed with that answer.

“Wait...” Quinn said, as something finally sank in. “No _phone_?!”

Jane snickered. “You got the tent, Trent?” she asked.

“Yeah. Wanna help me raise it?” he returned, and pulled his own pack off his back.

“Might be an idea to do that while it's light,” Jane agreed. “Daria?”

“I'm seriously thinking of re-naming my 'Montana Cabin Fund' my 'New York Penthouse Fund',” Daria answered. “But sure.”

“New York real-estate is more expensive,” Trent told Daria as he unrolled the canvas structure.

“So I'm not going to be able to afford it by the time I graduate from high school,” Daria allowed with a shrug. “It's not like I'd started making payments to a real estate agent yet anyway.”

“You two only brought the one tent?” Helen asked Trent and Jane, and was surprised when she noticed that fact.

“We only _have_ the one tent,” Trent admitted, and shrugged carelessly.

Helen frowned. “A young woman shouldn't have to share a tent with her brother,” she said thoughtfully. “For that matter, a young man shouldn't have to share a tent with his sister,” she added.

“It's fine Mrs Morgendorffer,” Trent said.

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. “We really don't mind.”

If they'd gone to the Lane Family Reunion, they'd be sharing a room with a whole _lot_ of people, all family, none of whom they really cared for. Sharing a tent for a weekend was infinitely better.

~lalaLAlala~

Jane pulled out a bag of marshmallows once they had the camp fire going.

“But... we were supposed to be relying on nature,” Jake objected weakly.

“But you can't have an open fire and _not_ roast marshmallows!” Jane countered with a smirk, and speared a couple of the soft, sugary blobs on the end of a couple of sticks (one for her and one for Trent) before passing the bag to Daria.

“It just wouldn't be right,” Trent agreed as he fished something else out of his bag. With the item free of the pack, Trent cradled it in his arms.

“I didn't know guitars _came_ that small,” Quinn commented. “It's so _cute_!” she added, and appeared to genuinely believe what she said, rather than just be saying it to draw the attention of the older guy who was a musician.

“Technically, the instrument started its life as a ukulele,” Jane said, “but I 'fixed' it so that it took six strings. _Et viola_! A soprano guitar.”

“It's hell to tune though,” Trent admitted wryly as he adjusted the tension of the strings, tuning the instrument with a content smile on his face. “So, ghost stories?” he prompted.

“Daria, why don't you go first?” Jane suggested.

Daria eyed her friend dangerously, but conceded, and told a somewhat twisted version of Hansel and Gretel. The light of the camp fire flames danced in soulless reflection off Daria's glasses, adding to the horror of the grotesque tale that had been told in such a detached and pleasant manner. Jake, Helen and Quinn were all soon holding their stomachs with one arm, and covering their mouths with the other hand.

“Wow,” Jane commented after a moment of grave silence when Daria was done. “I can't top that,” she admitted as she jammed another marshmallow onto her stick. She'd already eaten three during her friend's tale. “How 'bout you Trent?”

Trent had provided mood music during the tale, between eating his own marshmallows. “No,” he admitted. “Can't really communicate the horror of the Lane Family Reunion, with all the _morning people_ and the _family croquet tournament_ ,” he added, and shuddered in horror at what he and his sister had so narrowly escaped.

“Those little wooden balls _clacking_ ,” Jane agreed with a scowl. “ _Clack_... _clack_...” and viciously she bit into her latest marshmallow.

~lalaLAlala~

“Up and at 'em!” Jake cheered when he exited his tent, far too early for a Saturday morning. “Time to join the forest morning – already in progress. Breakfast is on Mother Nature!” he declared, and started collecting berries from the near-by bush.

Helen roused her daughters, and asked Daria to check on the Lanes in their tent.

That suited Daria fine, as it gave her an opportunity to eat a much more normal, pre-packed breakfast with them, rather than eat the unknown berries. She'd made sure there was normal, _human_ food in her pack as well, pre-packaged stuff from the seven-eleven. There was no way she'd be able to get away with eating it where her father could see her though.

Not with the mood _he_ was in.

“Knowing my dad the way I do, and knowing his skills at woodland craft, I'm thoroughly concerned for our inability to contact the outside world,” Daria said as she traded a packet of salt and vinegar chips for a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.

“So, the stupidly early morning will be rewarding later?” Jane asked hopefully. “On the entertainment factor, I mean.”

“Odds are good,” Daria answered, and looked down at the still-sleeping Trent. Neither girl had the heart to wake him. He'd gotten thoroughly out of the habit of waking up in the morning hours since graduating from high school, and besides which, it _was_ a Saturday.

“In that case, depending on the reaction, I think I should collect some of these berries for judicious redistribution among the Lawndale High populous,” Jane said with a smirk.

“Ooh, good point,” Daria agreed. “Though of course you know, that means we'll have to actually keep an eye on my family.”

Jane shrugged. “And the clock, so we can time how long before the berries start effecting them,” she added.

“Make sure you also record the effects, side-effects, and how long _those_ last,” Trent instructed sleepily as he brought up a hand to rub at his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Way too early,” Daria answered. “But Dad's having too much fun to sleep in, or let anybody _else_ sleep in. Sorry.”

Trent shook his head. “It's okay,” he said. “If we'd gone to the reunion, we'd be suffering jet-lag _and_ be forced to be awake around morning people as they talked down at us and played croquet.”

“Ah, yes,” Daria agreed, recalling the 'horror story' the siblings had half-told the previous night. “If you want, you can go back to sleep,” she offered. “I'll make an excuse for you to my dad.”

Trent shook his head. “Nah,” he answered. “Take advantage of a change of scenery, see if I get inspired. Could go for breakfast though,” he added with a look at Jane.

“Here's yours,” Jane answered, and passed over a zip-lock sandwich bag. The sandwich within had ham, cheese, and tomato sauce on it. No butter.

The three left the Lane tent behind soon after, and Jake passed each of them a pile of berries to have for their breakfast. Subtly, each one of them slipped those berries into the recently emptied zip-lock bag that Trent's breakfast had been in, helped to break camp (Jake wanted them all to hike until they dropped today, having to come _back_ to camp would be too exhausting if that's what they actually ended up doing), and then followed along. All three of them quietly waiting for the show to start.

The rope that had been used to hold up the Lane tent was at the very top of Jane's bag, just in case it was needed.

~lalaLAlala~

“My family has gone insane,” Daria said. “We're out in the middle of nowhere, nobody knows we're here, and we have no way to contact anyone. That's actually kind of scary.”

“Ah, but we have _rope_ ,” Jane consoled, even as Trent was removing said rope from her bag and making a lasso with it to capture the berry-high Morgendorffers.

Then a ringing came from Helen's discarded pack.

Daria smiled. “And Mom's hypocrisy can be relied upon to save the day,” she added as she removed Helen's cell phone from its pocket. “She'll have to call you back,” Daria informed the person who'd called, and quickly hung up.

“Don't call nine-one-one just yet Daria,” Jane instructed with a smirk as Trent caught Jake – who had stripped to his boxer shorts and hiking books – and reeled him in. “There's still time to enjoy this.”

“And I haven't gotten to practice my roping since my class went on a field trip to a cattle yard,” Trent added with a pleased smile as he tied Jake up and went to Jane's bag for the next rope.

“I didn't know you even _could_ rope stuff,” Jane quipped. “For that matter, I didn't know your class went on a trip to a cattle yard.”

“The cowboy wannabes at the cattle yard taught all the kids that wanted to learn how to rope an animal, and how to crack a whip,” Trent answered. “It was fun, and I was pretty good, but I haven't exactly had an opportunity to _practice_ since then,” he admitted. And missed as he tried to rope Helen.

He managed to catch Quinn's foot though, and proceeded to reel _her_ in once she fell over into the mud, tripping on the rope that had caught her.

Eventually, Helen was also caught, and Jane came up with the idea of tying all three of them together and walking them back to where Jake had left the car. Trent could drive. Fun as it might be to get them air-lifted out of the woods, they still wanted to see how long the effects of these berries would last, and if there would be any bad come-down, like there was for most illicit drugs on the market.

Amusingly enough, ten hours later when they finally reached the Morgendorffer family's SUV, they were _still_ high as kites.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Jane declared softly as she forcibly bound Helen, Jake, and Quinn to the back seat, a smile on her face. She would be riding with them, keeping track of their behaviour, while Daria sat up front with Trent.

Daria would be writing down the ideas that Trent couldn't seem to keep from coming, since he couldn't write them down himself. He'd have his hands full with the steering wheel.

“There is _definitely_ going to be a market for those berries,” Jane said, a smirk on her face, as she helped Daria herd her family back into the house another two hours later.

Trent chuckled once the Morgendorffers were all shut up in their rooms and tucked into their beds, just as they were – which meant twigs in Helen's hair and mud on Quinn's face – and the three of them were relaxing at the kitchen table with cans of cold cola to drink.

“I gotta admit, I'm curious to see what DeMartino would be like if _he_ tried some of these,” Trent mused aloud. “Or O'Neill. He's so much in his own world it just might return him to _ours_.”

The girls stared at him, stunned and silent for a moment.

Daria spoke first. “You're very good,” she praised.

Trent smirked, proud of himself for having impressed the girl who was probably the smartest person he knew.


	10. Chapter 10

_Life always comes to a bad end._ \- Marcel Aym é

~lalaLAlala~

It was picture day. The day that students of the school were paraded in front of a camera, and their current physical appearance was recorded so that it could be compared to the pictures received the previous year.

Quinn was naturally enthusiastic, and had put even more effort than usual into her appearance that morning before school.

Daria, on the other hand, merely made sure there was nothing stuck in her teeth (not that she planned on smiling anyway).

“So, what background are _you_ going to pick?” Jane asked. “I'm thinking the Vegas Strip.”

“Matt grey or mottled blue have always worked for me in the past,” Daria answered.

Jane narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You're not even going to _smile_ for the camera, are you?”

“Does that even need to be answered?” Daria countered.

Jane sighed. “Daria, you are a part of the family I have chosen for myself,” she informed her friend. “This family also includes Trent and Jesse. That's it. You, me, and those two idiots. I want a picture of you that I can build a mad, artistic frame for and keep in my room when you go off to Yale or Harvard or whatever, and I'm stuck here attending the Lawndale State University.”

“We've got a couple more years for you to get that picture then,” Daria said flatly, then frowned at her friend. “And you're way too good to settle for Lawndale State,” she added firmly.

Jane smiled softly. “Thanks Daria,” she said, genuinely touched by her friend's vehemence at her artistic skill.

“I'm going to go with matt grey,” Daria decided shortly thereafter.

Jane rolled her eyes, but smirked at her friend. She did have pictures of Daria smiling, but her friend didn't know about them, and she wanted to keep it that way. So, unfortunately, she couldn't really put them on display. As it was, she was working on painting the portrait of her brother and best friend _from_ those photos in another part of the house. It was tough too, because she wasn't letting herself be even the slightest bit abstract or interpretive with that piece. Well, not for Daria and Trent anyway. The patched grey couch in their living room may or may not yet be replaced. She hadn't painted it in yet, so there was room for interpretation to happen yet. She was just focusing on getting the key subjects of her painting perfect.

“I'm still thinking Vegas,” Jane stated plainly. “And even if you _don't_ smile, I want a couple of the smaller-sized prints.”

“Why?”

“One for me to stick in that mad-artistic frame I mentioned already,” Jane said with a smirk.

Daria allowed one corner of her own mouth to tilt up in amusement.

“And the other is for Trent to stick in his wallet,” Jane finished.

“What?”

“Yup,” Jane said with a fierce (and teasing-but-definitely-not-joking) expression on her face. “Trent wants a wallet-sized of each of us. He's been keeping a copy of my picture in there for years, damned if I know why -”

(Trent used those pictures as a reminder to himself why he couldn't spend his money so frivolously, and just buy any damn thing he wanted.)

“- but he does,” Jane said. “And now, for reasons I dare not tempt fate by guessing at, Trent wants _your_ picture for his wallet as well.”

(Trent wanted a solid reminder that there was someone out there who believed in him, his dream, and even in his ability to make his dream a reality. Not even Janey did that, supportive though she was.)

“I'm still not going to smile for the camera, Lane,” Daria informed her friend.

“Of course you're not,” Jane agreed.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was mildly disturbed to see a large banner hanging across the frontage of her school when she arrived there on Monday. A banner with a picture of a football at one end, and flag at the other, and, all in capitals was written “ _Lawndale High Welcomes Back Tommy Sherman_ ”. As she was still, comparatively speaking, new to Lawndale, she was going to have to talk to Jane. Find out if she'd be able to get away with the usual routine, or if she was going to feel the need, for the first time since they'd left Highland, to actually skip school.

“He was quarter-back three years ago when the school won the state championship,” Jane explained easily. “Always wanted to score the touchdowns by himself, but couldn't help waving to the crowds, which led to him always crashing into the goal post. Broke his own nose twice.”

“I am in awe of this guy's mental capacity already,” Daria said with flat, dry sarcasm.

“I know,” Jane agreed. “Then in the play-off the week before the state championship, he scored the winning touchdown, but ran into the goal post _so_ hard that he broke his helmet. He was unconscious for six days. _Miraculously_ , he woke up in time for the state championship feeling _great_. He then proceeded to lead the team to victory.”

“Stirring,” Daria said unhappily.

“Isn't it?” Jane agreed. “So now the school's bought one of those new goal posts that break apart, rather than split your skull, and they're naming it after _good ol_ ' Tommy Sherman. Oh, and here comes the lucky student council member who will do the honours,” she added, spotting Jodie walking up to them.

“Gimme a break,” she requested flatly. “Daria, I can't get passed the introduction to this speech,” she said. “Can I read it to you?”

“Does that mean I don't have to listen to it later?” Daria asked, but gestured for the girl to pull up some lawn and go ahead.

“Good afternoon students, faculty, and distinguished alumni of Lawndale High,” Jodie read off her clip-board. “As a representative of your student council,” she then lowered the clip-board and looked desperately at Daria. “Any ideas?” she asked.

“It is my privilege today,” Daria offered. “Or solemn duty, if you're not feeling particularly privileged.”

Jodie nodded. “Thanks for not being sarcastic about this Daria,” she said as she made note – solemn duty. “I already hate that I have to do this enough.”

“Why give the speech at all?” Jane asked.

“I'm a member of the student council, and as such, I have responsibilities. Today, those responsibilities include kissing the butt of some jock who's getting a goal post named after him,” Jodie answered with a scowl.

“Sympathies,” Daria said with a nod. “Are you just supposed to _welcome_ the jock, or can you get away with just presenting the goal post?”

“Ms Li is the one actually presenting the goal post,” Mack supplied as he joined them. “Hey,” he greeted Jodie. “How's the speech coming?” he asked, all sympathy for her plight.

Jodie passed it over.

“Well, you're further than you were,” he offered. “That's good, right?”

Jodie sighed unhappily and took back her clip-board.

Mac sighed too, and sat down on the grass next to his girlfriend. “I know you don't want to hear it,” he said. “But your best source for butt-kissing material for the speech may actually be Kevin.”

Jodie glared at her boyfriend. “You're right,” she said. “I _don't_ want to hear it.”

“Speaking as someone who just got the story five minutes ago,” Daria offered. “I think you could probably talk about single-minded dedication to his chosen calling, that being football, if even a split skull didn't keep him from playing.”

“Thank you so much Daria!” Jodie said brightly.

“Yeah,” Mack agreed. “That's really good. It even gives a vaguely positive light to the fact that the guy skipped class as often as he did, so he could get in more practice.”

“Single-minded dedication,” Jodie repeated with a smirk and a nod as she scribbled across her clip-board. “Oh yes, I can work with that.”

“You're welcome,” Daria said plainly. “So, do I get out of having to listen to the speech later?”

“And miss picking out all the veiled insults Jodie's going to be working into it now?” Jane asked incredulously.

“I can't have too many,” Jodie countered. “Ms Li _will_ be right there, and she's bound to notice.”

“Ooh, good point,” Jane agreed.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria frowned at the man who was leaning on her locker like he owned the entire hallway.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“You're kidding right?” the man asked with a smirk. “You think I'm gonna talk to you?” Then he turned to Jane, who was at Daria's side. “You, maybe. Like, four hours into a kegger!” he said with a laugh.

“Frankly, I'd rather you _didn't_ talk to me,” Daria answered flatly. “Just get the hell off my locker.”

“Do you know who I am?” the guy asked, though he _did_ push himself off the lockers. “Tommy Sherman?”

“I know the whole school it turning itself inside out over some football player,” Daria started. “And I know I've seen you either proposition or insult just about everyone you've come across, so my guess is: you're the football player guy.”

With satisfaction, Daria took in the surprised expression he was wearing.

“Congratulations, you must have worked very hard to become such a colossal jerk so quickly,” she added, and brushed passed him. “Move,” she instructed, and opened her locker.

The man was foolish enough to move in such a way that his nose connected with the locker door as Daria opened it.

Having experienced at least two broken noses already, Tommy Sherman only grunted and stepped back, a hand coming up to his nose.

“You know what I'm gonna do now?” he demanded. “I'm gonna go out onto the football field and check out my new goal post. I'm gonna read the plaque and think about all the people who admire me. But you wouldn't know anything about that,” he said with as much of a sneer as he could manage around a bloody nose. “You're one of those 'Misery Chicks', always moping about what a cruel world it is, making a big deal about it so that people won't notice you're such a _loser_ ,” he declared, and then marched off.

“I don't think he likes you,” Jane observed to Daria with a smile.

“I could honestly care less,” Daria answered.

“I wonder if he'll be able to get the blood off his shirt before the ceremony,” Jane commented with a smirk.

“If we're lucky, I'll have broken his nose a third time, and he _won't_ get the blood out,” Daria agreed with a smile.

The sound of a crash echoed out, followed by Kevin yelling that Tommy Sherman was dead.

“Jane, tell me honestly, would it in bad taste for me to say 'good riddance'?”

“Very bad.”

“Then, would it be in bad taste for me to skip out the rest of the day?” Daria asked.

“Nah, that you can get away with,” Jane answered. “Think I'll do the same thing myself. Go home, change, go for a run.”

Daria nodded. “I need a guitar and my notebooks.”

“Plural? Wow. Well, then go grab them and your twelve-string and come over to my place. I'll be out running, but I'm sure you can hang out with Trent,” Jane offered.

“Thanks,” Daria said with an appreciative nod.

The just had to get through a speech by Ms Li in the auditorium before they could go, and after Jane escaped, Daria had to get through dealing with Kevin, Brittany and Mr O'Neill before she could go too.

Actually, dealing with Brittany wasn't so bad as the other two. The ditzy blonde cheerleader actually _did_ have a few functioning brain cells between her pigtails, she just didn't use them in the classroom much.

Daria was _very_ sick of people saying 'it really makes you think' to her though. Even if only three people had said it – four when she got home and Quinn asked to talk to her as well. She was also sick of people saying that she was essentially 'used to' being depressed. She _wasn't_. She actually had a very upbeat attitude, for a cynic.

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Daria,” Trent greeted when he answered the door.

“Hey Trent,” Daria answered.

“Janey went running,” he said.

“I know,” she answered. “She told me she would.”

“But you came over anyway?” Trent asked, just a little confused.

“I'd honestly rather hang out in your back yard with my guitar and notebook than just about anywhere else right now,” Daria admitted. “I've been accosted for emotional support by the current QB, the head cheerleader, _O'Neill_ , and my sister. If I'd stayed at home, Helen would ask how I was coping, and if I stay in the public sight, I can only imagine how many more people are going to come to me wanting to _talk_ about Tommy Sherman. I feel like I should get a couch.”

Trent nodded in understanding, and stepped aside. “Come on in,” he offered.

“Thanks Trent.”

“It's a bit scary,” Trent admitted as he closed the door behind her. “I mean... that someone my age is dead.”

Daria blinked. Oh yeah. “Jane said you knew him,” she recalled

Trent shrugged. “Had a few classes together,” he allowed, and started walking deeper into the house. A vague wave indicated for Daria to follow, which she did. “Didn't see him much though. Didn't show up to often.”

Daria smirked, unable to resist the dig. “Not like you, huh?” she asked.

Trent chuckled. “I only ever regularly missed first period,” he defended himself with a wry smile and raised hands. “Still... the freak accident... pretty weird.”

“Would you say... _it really makes you think_?” Daria asked cautiously.

“No,” Trent answered, flatly and without hesitation.

Some of the tension Daria had been carrying leached out then. “Thank you for that Trent,” she said appreciatively.

“You're welcome? Well, here we go,” Trent declared as he opened another door, this one leading out to the back yard. “The old gazebo. Get yourself comfortable, I'll grab us a couple of sodas from the fridge, and bring out my guitar and notebook, and we can jam for a while.”

Daria smiled up at the lanky young man who was rapidly leaving the category of _best friend's brother_ and moving into being a damn good friend in his own right. “Thanks Trent.”

“Got a favourite flavour?” Trent asked.

“I'd go for lemonade, if you've got it, but I don't really care all that much,” Daria admitted.

“Think we've got cola and ginger beer, actually,” Trent said thoughtfully.

“Then I'll have whatever's cold,” Daria deferred.

Trent nodded. “Be right back,” he promised.


	11. Chapter 11

_What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice._ \- Charles Baudelaire

~lalaLAlala~

“Feeling bad about not feeling worse equals good,” Trent read from one of Daria's notebooks when they were giving their fingers a break.

“Brittany,” Daria supplied.

“Death moves people to action,” Trent continued, reading another note.

“Quinn.”

“How are you going to put all this stuff together?” Trent asked, and passed back the notebook.

“Not sure,” Daria admitted as she accepted the book back. Still, she picked up a pen and stared thoughtfully at the page for a moment, tapping the pen on her chin as she thought. “She's a nice girl/ feels bad about not feeling worse/ when she thinks she isn't feeling/ as bad as she should/ wants to be happy again/ so she talks to the Misery Chick.”

Trent raised an eyebrow at that. “Where did _that_ come from?” he asked seriously.

“Sherman called me a 'Misery Chick' just before he died,” Daria answered, a frown on her face. “I know I'm not miserable, but that seems to have been the perception all over the place today.”

Trent nodded in acceptance. “Just so long as you know you're not a 'Misery Chick',” he said firmly.

Daria nodded. “I know,” she agreed, and then continued with the composition. “She's a shallow girl/ still affected by things that are deep/ needs a shallow answer/ to resolve what she's feeling/ wants to be happy again/ so she goes to the Misery Chick.”

Trent raised an eyebrow. “You're not rhyming at all,” he noted.

“Poetry doesn't have to rhyme,” Daria dismissed. “And it's not like I sing when I'm playing, so nobody's going to know anyway.”

“Think you need another verse though,” Trent suggested.

Daria nodded. “Well, I've covered Brittany and Quinn, I refuse to write poetry about Kevin or O'Neill, so... She's a quiet girl/ keeps her feelings to herself/ doesn't let people see/ what's going on in her head/ but she's a happy girl/ sick of being called a Misery Chick. Hmm...” Daria hummed to herself, not quite satisfied. “Hmm... maybe 'upbeat', rather than 'happy' in the last verse. No, that doesn't work. It pulls the tying word and it's not true. I'm happy, but I'm not upbeat, so I'll stick with the way it is.”

Daria copied out the finished poem into a different notebook, under the title 'Misery Chick', nodded to herself, and closed that notebook again before she turned back to Trent.

He had his own notebook out, pale blue-grey and with “ _Private! Do Not Read!_ ” scrawled in large letters on the front in black marker.

“How's it going over there Trent?” Daria asked.

“My heart is like an open wound/ that reads the tea-leaves of its doom/ soothe me with redemption's love/ like a heat-proof kitchen glove,” Trent read out.

Daria blinked. Twice. “Trent, that makes almost no sense,” she informed him plainly, though not unfeelingly.

“Damn.”

“I'll tell you what,” Daria offered. “If you want, the Spiral can have 'Misery Chick'. You just have to come up with the music for it.”

“That's cool of you Daria, but I do need to work on being able to write my own lyrics,” Trent pointed out, simultaneously grateful and realistic.

“I know,” Daria agreed with a nod. “But it might be an interesting experiment for the Spiral to come up with music to something that someone else wrote the words for.”

“Hmm... it has potential,” Trent agreed. “But what about this song?” he asked, gesturing back to his notebook.

“What's it supposed to be about?” Daria asked.

Trent's shoulders slumped. “A relationship that feels like it's doomed, and won't ever even start, but there's still some hope, if...” Trent stopped himself and shook his head. “Forget it. It's a bad premise anyway. The guys hate playing _Icebox Woman_ as it is, because they think it's a ballad. Well, Jesse doesn't mind it, but he helped me out when I was writing it.”

Daria lay a hand on Trent's shoulder in a rare moment of offering the human contact variety of comfort. “If your band isn't into the songs that you want to write, then keep back some for yourself,” Daria suggested. “Prepare for your solo career,” she offered with a gentle smile.

Trent chuckled. “Yeah,” he agreed, a hint of disbelief in his voice at the very idea. “A _solo_ career. I dunno, but alright,” he allowed. After all, it couldn't hurt.

“So, do you want to work on this song about pre-emptive heartbreak? Or do you want to get back to wordless jamming?” Daria offered.

“I think I'll set that song on the shelf for a while,” Trent decided with a frustrated sigh, and closed his notebook. “Maybe come back to it when I've got a better idea of what I'm trying to say with it. Jamming would be good.”

“Thanks for teaching me how to strum chords, by the way.”

“No problem.”


	12. Chapter 12

_Criticism of the arts... taken by and large, ends in a display of suburban omniscience which sees no further than into the next-door garden._ \- Sir Thomas Beecham

~lalaLAlala~

Art class, and an impromptu interruption (they were exploring landscapes with shadows) from Li and O'Neill that Lawndale High would be participating in a state-wide poster competition.

“Participation is strictly voluntary,” Ms Li said, “but I don't see how any of you could pass up this opportunity to bring honour unto yourselves, and unto Lawndale High.”

“Unto?” Jane repeated softly, an eyebrow raised in quiet disbelief as she checked her friend's reaction.

“Buckle my shoe,” Daria answered, getting a smirk out of her friend from her play on an old primary school rhyme that was a cross between a numbers lesson and a rhyme that parents said as they fed small children. (It finished at “nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty”.)

“So, think you'll participate?” Jane asked as they left class.

Behind them, Ms Defoe was about to call out to Jane, ask her to stay back to wish her luck with the contest, but she was interested to hear if Daria, never a joiner, actually _would_ participate in something.

“Actually, crazy as it may be, I think I will,” Daria answered. “How about you?”  
“I disagree with the very idea of artists competing with each other,” Jane countered with an easy shake of her head. “Give me a community over competition any day.”

Ms Defoe, unseen behind them, let her shoulders fall in disappointment. If anybody would have been able to represent student life, it would have been Jane. She turned back to her classroom, and the two students continued out of her hearing range.

“Even if there's a monetary prize?” Daria queried.

“That's different,” Jane said quickly. “But there isn't a monetary prize for this contest,” she pointed out.

“No,” Daria agreed. “There isn't, but it is an opportunity to tell the world what I really think of student life, and there's just so much to hate about it. Besides, it'll be another extra-curricular activity, which will keep my mom off my back about the issue before she even gets a chance to start getting worked up about it again.”

“Good point,” Jane allowed, and a wicked smirk overtook her features. “And after all, no one said the message had to be positive. Need any help?”

“I'm not half the artist you are,” Daria allowed with a nod. “I've got the idea, clear as crystal in my head, but I'm fairly sure I wouldn't be able to paint it.”

Jane accepted this. “A collaboration then,” she agreed. “What's the idea?”

“Some gorgeous, skinny girl hunched over a toilet seat, puking her guts out, and a prom dress hanging on the door,” Daria explained.

“Title?” Jane asked.

“'But I Want to be the Queen',” Daria answered. “Or else, 'The Quest for Size Two Skinny Jeans',” she allowed with a shrug.

“Message?” Jane pressed.

“Bulimia,” Daria replied. “Because all the emphasis on appearance today can be dangerous. The girl should be very pretty, so that your first reaction, in any other situation, would be 'oh, what a happy teenager', but that prettiness comes at a price. Her being so pretty will add some shock-factor to the picture.”

Jane nodded. “The obsessive quest for beauty turns the pretty girl into something really ugly,” she summarised.

“That's it,” Daria agreed.

Jane smiled. “This is a project that I can get behind,” she decided. “I'm going to need you to pose over a toilet seat so that I can get the arrangement of limbs right,” she informed her friend shortly thereafter.

“Of course you are.”

~lalaLAlala~

Ms Defoe was, initially, not impressed with the idea that the girls might be mocking something as serious as an eating disorder, but when they explained their reasoning behind the poster, she was more understanding, and asked for permission to enter their poster into the competition.

Ms Li and Mr O'Neill, on the other hand, remained utterly unimpressed.

“We wouldn't want people _doing_ that,” Ms Li said firmly.

“That's the point,” Daria agreed.

Fortunately for them, there was really no way for either of them to alter the poster in any way, and Ms Defoe had already OK'd it to be entered – on the proviso that they put a concise summary of the meaning of their poster _on_ the poster. Which they had, and before Li or O'Neill had seen it even.

“Obsession With Beauty Is An Ugly Thing” was written in deliberately dripping red along the bottom of the poster.

It turned out there _was_ a cash prize too. Not a big one, just twenty bucks. But Jane and Daria split it between themselves quite happily.

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Trent, you're awake,” Jane greeted when she and Daria returned to Casa Lane after yet another day of the vaguely educational tedium that was high school.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “Woke up about an hour ago. Got this weird feeling that something was going to happen.”

“What's that noise?” Jane asked.

“I figured I might as well do laundry while I waited for the 'something' to happen,” Trent admitted with a shrug. “How was school?”

“We were told today that whole school is going to go on a field trip to a paint-ball park,” Jane answered.

Trent blinked. “When?” he asked.

“Day after tomorrow,” Jane answered.

“The whole school?” Trent repeated.

“Yup,” Jane confirmed.

“Bet they need parent volunteers then,” Trent reflected, a slow smile creeping onto his face at the prospect. “Teachers wouldn't be enough adult supervision.”

Jane raised an eyebrow at her brother. “You're... not thinking of volunteering, are you?” she asked.

“Why not?” he countered. “The paint-ball field trip was pretty fun when they did it last time. Of course, there weren't any parent volunteers last time either, so it might have gotten a bit wild.”

“They've done this before?” Daria asked.

“Yeah, think they do it on a four-year cycle,” Trent explained. “That way, no one goes twice, unless they decide to be an adult volunteer. Barch, DeMartino and Li were all pretty vicious. Real cool to watch.”

“You're saying that this has potential?” Daria clarified.

Trent nodded. “Oh yeah,” he agreed. “Free reign to shoot the annoying jocks who don't know better than to just charge head on, or to shoot O'Neill and watch a grown man cry... ”

Jane and Daria shared smirks.

“Maybe it won't be so bad,” Jane suggested.

~lalaLAlala~

Trent decided to join the girls on the bus, rather than risk his car, a nineteen-seventy-three Plymouth Satellite, over-heating on the drive out to the paint-ball place.

“Great white shark...” Jane noted on a billboard as they rode.

“Not worth it,” Trent informed the girls. “Curtis Stalano skipped out last time, went to check it out. Was real disappointed when he got back. It's just a store full of merchandise, a tooth, and a crazy woman re-telling the story of _Jaws_.”

“Damn,” Jane grumbled.

“Now, strategy for when we get there,” Trent instructed softly.

Jane and Daria shared a look, and leant forward so they could better hold this conversation without running the risk of being overheard.

“You want to get on Barch's team,” Trent said firmly. “Whichever other teacher is also on the team doesn't much matter, but she's the only teacher that actually even tries coming up with a strategy. We'll all offer to be snipers.”  
“Snipers?” Daria asked, sceptical.

“Get comfy up in a tree, shoot anybody who approaches,” Trent confirmed, and smirked. “No one ever looks up.”

“What about taking cover in the more low-lying terrain, like rocks and bushes?” Jane asked. “I'm not too sure about this 'climbing' thing.”

Trent shook his head. “The enemy might try using your bush as cover to advance,” he said. Then frowned. “That sounded... wrong, somehow.”

“Too much potential for double meaning,” Jane stated lowly.

Daria smiled slightly, amused at her friends. Yeah, plural. Daria definitely held Trent as a friend now, not just her friend's brother. It was a slightly strange sensation for her. She'd lived this long with _no_ friends, but now here she was with _two_. The whole situation was almost surreal, but... it was good, too.

They were exposed to a couple more truly surreal moments in short order. Jake and Helen were a couple of the parent volunteers who'd come along for the day. Daria studiously ignored them, as did Quinn. Then, after they'd been assigned to teams and once Ms Barch had sent O'Neill running, _Brittany_ , of all people, offered up a tactically sound plan.

“Since they can't see us very well because of the terrain, we can split up and they won't know where we are. Then we can attack from three sides, drive them out to the one side they think is safe, and then set an ambush there to capture them all at once!” Brittany squeaked. It seemed that she really _did_ have a working brain in that head of hers, however empty it was generally regarded.

Then again, there was the time she had offered cheer-leading as an example of an activity that could be compared to brainwashing... There was still some debate on if that had been a rare moment of insight on her part, or just a further proof of the idea that the blonde would never herself need to fear being brainwashed.

“It would probably be a good idea to set up a secret observation post on the high ground so that we can watch them without them seeing us,” she added enthusiastically.

There was a moment of general shocked silence that such a well thought out plan had come from the head cheerleader.

“What?” Brittany asked, confused, and possibly just a little insulted, at the stunned looks she was getting.

“That's very _good_ , Brittany,” Barch said with a slow, proud smile. “Alright, anybody else?”

“The people in the 'observation post' could also do double-duty as snipers,” Jane suggested when Trent nudged her. They knew perfectly well that Barch wouldn't listen to an idea given by a _male_ , even if it was a reasonable one.

“Another excellent idea,” Barch agreed.

“Let's go team!” Brittany cheered, and then the group scattered.

Jane and Daria stuck with Trent.

“Here we go,” Trent said when he finally stopped at a tree solid tree near to the team's flag. “Got a good view of the surrounding lay, strong branches, good cover from the leaves. Up you go Janey,” he instructed, and cupped his hands together to give her a boost. The tree wasn't exactly ideal for climbing. Jumping down wouldn't be too bad, but getting up unassisted wasn't happening.

“Daria, hold my gun?” Jane requested, and passed it over. She was going to need both hands to grab on to the lowest branch and pull herself up, and the paint-ball guns didn't have straps.

“You alright up there?” Daria asked once Jane was sitting on the branch.

“Yep!” Jane answered. “Alright, pass me my weapon!” she requested with a dark grin.

Trent was the only one tall enough to reach her, so Daria passed the gun to Trent, and then Trent passed the gun to Jane.

“Alright, come on Daria,” Trent said, and waved for her to follow him. They cautiously cut across the clearing where the flag was, and Trent picked another solid tree. “This one's yours,” he said, and again cupped his hands to give Daria a boost.

Daria dropped her gun on the ground and set her foot in Trent's hands. It was a _damn_ good thing that a standardised khaki uniform had been just about ordered onto all of them for the day. No way she would have been able to maintain her dignity if she'd been doing this in the black skirt she usually wore.

“You secure Daria?” Trent asked once she was sitting on a branch.

“Well, I'm up,” she replied, “and there's a convenient fork in the branches where I can stash the gun while I make sure that I _am_ secure,” she added, “so pass it up.”

“Cool,” Trent answered her, and picked up her gun. He brushed the dirt off, and then passed it up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Trent assured her, and then headed over to a third tree, one that had a boulder next to it to give himself a boost up. There wasn't anybody who would be able to pass him his gun though, so he had to keep hold of it while he climbed. That was fine though. He'd managed last time.

All three of them _and_ Brittany shot Kevin when he approached the flag.

Brittany was the only one to shoot him in the football padding he wore constantly. The other three got him _below_ that area. Stomach and legs. The kid would _definitely_ be bruised the next day. The paint balls did hurt when they hit.

With Kevin out, DeMartino opened fire on Brittany, the only person he could actually see.

The blonde discarded her paint-ball gun and did some impressive acrobatics under the return cover-fire provided by Trent, Jane and Daria, until she was right in front of the history teacher, whereupon she kicked the gun out of the man's hand.

When Ms Barch started marching up with _her_ gun and just continued to shoot at DeMartino, over and over again as she ranted her ex-husband rant (as opposed to her generic man-hating rant), Trent took the opportunity to do something he'd wanted to do for a long time. With a smirk on his face, he shot Barch in the ass.

He was very careful _not_ to snicker though as she yelped in pain.

~lalaLAlala~

“You got Barch in the butt, didn't you?” Jane accused when they eventually climbed down from their treetop hide-outs, after the rain had passed and the time had come to head back to the buses.

“Daria, I'm not sure, but... is that entrapment?” Trent asked, rather than answering his sister.

“No Trent, that's an accusation framed as a question,” Daria corrected.

“Oh,” Trent said, then turned back to his little sister. “You know, that sounded kind of wrong, Janey,” he told her.

Jane smirked.


	13. Chapter 13

_Women, deceived by men, want to marry them; it is a kind of revenge as good as any other._ \- Phillippe de R é mi, Sire de Beaumanoir

~lalaLAlala~

As soon as Daria opened the front door, she heard the strained tones of Helen talking to Rita on the phone, and winced.

“Damn,” Daria said, and promptly closed the door again.

“Daria?” Jane questioned, confused.

“Mom's on the phone to Aunt Rita,” Daria answered. “You remember how much you were anticipating going to the Lane Family Reunion?”

“Oh yes,” Jane replied. That sort of anticipation was hard to forget.

“That's about how much I am now looking forward to entering my own home,” Daria stated plainly.

“Then you can come back to Casa Lane,” Jane offered. “You saved my butt, least I can do.”

“Thanks, but it will actually be _worse_ if I run away. Aunt Rita makes Mom _tense_ , and in a way not even her work does,” Daria explained.

“Ooh, ouch,” Jane commiserated.

“You're not going to want to see this,” Daria warned. “You'd probably better go.”

“And leave my best and only friend to the mercies of her manic mother?” Jane asked, an eyebrow arched in scepticism. “ _Amiga_ , I'm not going to do that to you,” she insisted.

“Thank you,” Daria said sincerely.

The pair halted at the threshold of the kitchen.

“There's going to be hell to pay,” Daria informed her friend softly as they listened to Helen talk to her sister on the phone, before finally hanging up a few moments later.

“Daria, and Jane, hello!” Helen greeted with a smile that was much more sincere than the tone of voice she'd been using when speaking to Rita. After all, her face had been set in a ferocious scowl throughout most of her raptures of how exciting it all was.

“Hi Mrs Morgendorffer,” Jane greeted in return.

“Daria, your cousin, little Erin, is getting married,” Helen said as she moved to sit down at the table opposite Jake. And then all semblance of pleasantness and cheer left her as she scowled and continued: “At the Windsor Hills Resort in Leeville.”

“Wo-ho!” Jake exclaimed, eyes wide. “That'll set Rita back a pretty penny!”

“Not Rita,” Helen said unhappily. “Mother. Nothing but the best for her favourite daughter's _darling_ offspring!” she tittered bitterly, a scowl etched firmly on her face.

“As you can see, there's some resentment,” Daria commentated softly.

“Some?” Jane parroted in a whisper as Quinn joined them.

“What's going on?” Quinn asked. “Mom looks...”

“She just got off the phone with Aunt Rita,” Daria answered succinctly.

“Oh,” Quinn said, and shrank away a bit.

“And you two girls are going to be bridesmaids,” Helen declared. “I made sure of that.”

Jane set a comforting hand on Daria's shoulder. “I'll come for moral support,” she promised.

“You're not allowed to bring your camera,” Daria told her flatly.

“Damn.”

“Can I dye my hair if the dress doesn't match?” Quinn asked.

~lalaLAlala~

“I'm sorry,” greeted the old woman as she came out from behind the counter. “We only do weddings, no funerals.”

“Lady, you're not selling your skills,” Jane informed her shortly, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“As much as I'd prefer a funeral, I'm a bridesmaid in the Chambers-Danielson wedding,” Daria added.

The woman went to the computer and brought up the file. “Here it is,” she said, and looked from her screen to Daria and back again. “Pity,” she continued as she shook her head. “They're such lovely dresses.”

“And my friend has a lovely figure,” Jane growled at the woman dangerously. “So if you can't or won't do your best because of a prejudice you formed in five seconds based on her preferred mode of dress, then I'm going to request a different person do the fitting.”

“Jane?” Daria asked, surprised at the attitude her friend was taking.

“Daria, I know you,” Jane said as the old woman went to get the basic dress. “You're not the sort to buy new, or nice things for yourself. You're going to have this bridesmaid dress whether you want it or not, and as your best friend it is my duty to make sure you look good in it.”

“And here I'd have thought I was due some mocking,” Daria quipped, touched.

“That will come _later_ ,” Jane promised with a smile.

A smile which vanished when she saw the dress.

“You're nuts,” she informed the woman angrily. “That dress is _clearly_ too large. She needs a size eight, not a size sixteen! That's it, I demand a different fitter! Hell, I'll damn well do it myself!”

“Jane?” Daria queried as the old woman raised a disbelieving eyebrow but went to fetch the dress in the size Jane had named.

“Daria, among my many other artistic talents, I am in fact competent with a needle,” Jane said to comfort her friend. “Or at least I was three years ago, haven't really needed to do any mending since then, the ever-present hole in Trent's jeans notwithstanding.”

A different woman returned carrying the size eight version of the dress.

“If you'll get changed over there,” she said, and pointed to a changing room, “and then we'll proceed with the fitting itself,” she continued, and pointed to a low stand half-surrounded by mirrors.

“Thank you,” Daria said without any real feeling, and accepted the gown.

~lalaLAlala~

“Oh, Scarlett,” Jane said in a higher-pitched, fake-southern accent as she looked up at where Daria was standing on the small plinth, being fitted. “You grow lovelier by the day.”

“Daria?” another voice called in question before the glasses-wearing girl in question could respond to her friend's teasing.

It was Brittany, and Jodie with her.

“What are _you_ doing here?” the respective parties asked each other at the same time.

Brittany then looked Daria up and down in her gown. “And where have you been hiding that figure?” she wanted to know.

“Under a very thick, shapeless coat,” Daria answered plainly. “Because I have no desire to be treated as a sex-object by my peers.”

“Daria's getting fitted for a bridesmaids dress,” Jane explained. “One of her cousins is getting married. I came along for moral support, and to make sure Daria got a dress the right size, and service that was worth their salary.”

The woman who was carefully adjusting the darts in the back of the dress smiled over Daria's shoulder. “You really sent old Mrs Banna packing,” she quipped with a smile. “She's the owner,” she added, “and much better at keeping the books than she is with fittings and customer service.”

“So, what are you doing here?” Daria asked again, turning back from the woman fitting her to her classmates.

“There's going to be a bridal expo in the gym,” Brittany answered happily. “We're _modelling_!”

“It's a fund-raiser and extra-curricular activity,” Jodie added, a little less enthusiastic than her bubbly blonde companion. “But really Daria, you look good.”

“Yeah, well... thanks.”

“She can't seem to take a compliment though,” Jane noted to the other two.

~lalaLAlala~

The wedding was lovely, but the reception was a mistake. Permitting all three of the Barksdale sisters to remain within reach of not only each other but also alcohol? Yeah, bad idea. It was entertaining for a while, and her counterpart among the grooms-men was actually good company, but Helen got on to the alcohol abuse, and then she got loud, and then _everybody_ got loud, and even the minister and Quinn's escort got into a fist-fight over her out in the corridor while the entire reception hall was trashed by the bride, the bride's mother, the bride's mother's beau, and Helen and Jake.

The groom escaped his own wedding to the same bowling alley that Daria and her aunt Amy made their getaway to. His exact words when he saw them were: “You can't make me go back there. I don't care who sent you.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Everyone becomes the thing they most despise._ \- Robert Benchley

~lalaLAlala~

“The Yaegers are coming for the weekend,” Helen informed Daria when questioned on what she was doing getting out one of the many kitchen appliances that, despite it never getting used, they'd kept when they moved from Highland. “I can't serve them store-bought bread!”

“Why not?” Daria demanded flatly, even as she made plans to pack a bag and her twelve-string and escape from her own home to Casa Lane, depending on how horrific this invasion would turn out to be.

“I haven't seen them for twenty-five years,” Helen said with a helpless shrug. “And let's just say they know a different Helen. A Helen famous for her oatmeal-pumpkin-seed loaf,” she added with a proud, if slightly sheepish, expression.

That meant that these people were some of Jake and Helen's friends from when they'd been hippies, and as much as Jake and Helen themselves had changed, it was entirely possible that these people were not as changed. Or could be even more drastically changed than Jake and Helen themselves were.

This definitely called for an evacuation of the premises.

Before Daria could make a break for her room to pack though, there was the beep of a car horn from out front.

“They're here! I hope they don't think I've changed too much,” she said, and touched her hair nervously.

“Just be yourself,” Daria advised. “That's what you're always telling me.”

“I could kick myself for that,” Helen answered her daughter plainly, even as she turned to go to the front door.

“What kind of car is _that_?” Quinn asked as she and Daria stood, side by side and behind their parents as they greeted their old friends.

“That's not a car,” Daria answered as she took in the old daffodil-yellow Volkswagen beetle. “It's a time machine.”

As well as the old hippies that got out of the time machine, there was a dog – a German shepherd that was apparently version three of the dog that the couple had owned back when Jake and Helen had been childless.

“You have a very old soul,” said the woman, Willow, to Daria when they were introduced.

“It just looks very mature for its age,” Daria answered.

“Is this a retro thing, or are they serious?” Quinn asked Daria quietly when Willow turned back to Helen, Jake, and her husband Coyote.

“The latter,” Daria answered. “I _am_ going to escape to Jane's before their good vibes rub off on me, I swear it,” she said, and started to turn back to the house, intent on packing her bag and running for the metaphorical hills.

“You can't leave me alone with those... _yuppies_!” Quinn objected fearfully.

“Yuppies are from the eighties,” Daria corrected. “These people are hippies.”

“Right. Thanks. But you _still_ can't -”

“Hey Ethan, come over here and meet the girls!” Coyote called back to the car.

A young man in a black t-shirt pushed the front passenger seat forward and climbed out onto the pavement.

“You can go,” Quinn corrected herself as she took in the teen.

“See if you can dig up some dirt on our parents as well,” Daria suggested. “Something we can use against them later.”

“Agreed.”

~lalaLAlala~

Daria packed up the things she'd need to stay over night at Jane's, _then_ called her friend to ask if it was okay for her to come over.

“ _Sure,”_ Jane agreed over the phone. _“I think we may even actually have some food in the house at the moment, but there's the option of pizza if we don't, so it's not a problem. Really Daria, Casa Lane's doors are always open for you. I should probably see about getting you a key to the back door so you can let yourself in whenever.”_

“Thanks Jane,” Daria said. “But just letting me crash there when I need to get away from my family is enough.”

“ _Well, and I'm pretty sure I've told you this before, friends are the family you choose for yourself,”_ Jane said. _“Which makes my family a total of four strong. You, me, Trent, and that sweet ol' lug Jesse.”_

“Jane, I should not be able to smell teenage crush over the phone line,” Daria informed her friend dryly.

“ _What do you expect?”_ Jane asked. _“He's my cool older brother's best friend, he's here every other day, so there's a lot of exposure. I don't really expect anything to come of it, especially not while I'm still a minor, but he never wears a shirt and he is nice to look at.”_

“Okay then,” Daria allowed. “I'll see you soon.”

“ _I'll clean out Penny's room for you,”_ Jane promised. _“See you soon,_ Amiga _.”_

Daria hung up the phone, made sure nothing important or vaguely incriminating in any way was lying around, then picked up her bag and her guitar-case.

“Daria?” Helen asked when she saw her come down the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“I figured it would be easier for all involved if I spent the weekend at Jane's,” Daria answered. “I'll see you Sunday.”

Helen sighed. “Alright,” she allowed, a little bit saddened, but if that was Daria's decision, then there wasn't much she could do to sway her.

~lalaLAlala~

“Now, Penny hasn't actually _lived_ here for a few years,” Jane said as she escorted her friend up to the room she'd cleaned out. “But occasionally the prodigal siblings _do_ return to Casa Lane, and as unlikely as it is that Penny in particular ever will, she's still... harsh. I decided that it was a better idea to clean out Summer's old room instead. We never see her any more unless her kids show up, in which case she comes by and collects them before returning to _her_ little section of the world as quickly as she can. Considering her kids are only a few years younger than Quinn...”

“I think I get it,” Daria said. “Thanks Jane.”

“No problem,” Jane answered with a shrug. “Here we go, what _was_ Summer's room is now officially _yours_ when you stay over. Do whatever you want to it,” she offered, and opened the door.

There was an empty bookshelf, an empty chest of drawers, an empty wardrobe, a desk, one of those weird posture chairs that had a place to put your bum and a place to put your knees, but no back or arm-rests to speak of, and Jane had made the bed with the generic grey sheets that had probably been a different colour once upon a time, but were softer than anything because of the number of times they'd been washed over the years.

There were a few stains on the walls and a spot or two where the plaster was flaking off, but the floor was clean.

Daria turned to her friend. “Thanks Jane,” she said again. “From the bottom of my black and shrivelled little heart.”

“No problem,” Jane answered with a smile. “Unpack, make yourself at home, and then we can go see what Trent and Jess are up to and discuss the possibility of either going out for or ordering in a pizza or four.”

“And what are _you_ going to do?” Daria asked as her friend headed for the door.

Jane smiled back. “I'm going to make an appropriately artsy sign that designates that as _your_ room. I may also make one for myself and one for Trent. Possibly even Jesse as well. He can have _Wind's_ room,” she said with a chuckle.

Daria smiled at her friend, waved her off to have her fun – it would involve the glue gun that looked like it came out of a science-fiction movie, she was sure – and started shifting her things. It really was very considerate of Jane to do this for her.

“The family you choose for yourself, huh,” Daria said softly, and smiled to herself. She could get behind that idea, even if it _was_ mushy.

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Trent.”

“Hey Janey,” Trent greeted when the two girls knocked on his door frame – the door was open – while Jesse was wearing his headphones, failing to find the difference between the sound of Zappa on CD and the sound of Zappa on vinyl. “Oh, hey Daria,” he added.

“Hey Trent,” Daria answered. “Hey Jesse.”

“Hey Daria,” Jesse returned. “Hey Jane.”

“Hey Jesse,” Jane replied. “Listen, you guys think you could put the sound-experiments aside for a while? It's about dinner time and we were thinking pizza.”

“I could eat,” Jesse said.

“Man, you can _always_ eat,” Trent quipped with amusement. “Pizza _does_ sound good though,” he added. “Going out or ordering in?”

“You could probably stand to leave the house for a while,” Jane told her brother flatly. “So, going out. You can explain what the heck you've been doing in here on the way.”

“Sure,” Trent agreed, and grabbed his shoes.

“Meet you at the car,” Jane said, and guided her friend back out of her brother's private version of the city dump, where piles of landfill were substituted for piles of unwashed clothes and various musical accoutrement.

“So, what's the deal with the top-secret experiments?” Jane asked once they were all in the car.

“My parents gave us their old records to sell at the flea market,” Jesse answered. “But now Trent wants to keep 'em.”

“It's the warmth of vinyl man,” Trent insisted as he drove. “I'm tellin' you, it's a richer tone.”

“The flea market, huh? Need any help?” Jane probed from the back seat where she sat with Daria.

“We have to be there by seven to set up,” Jesse supplied.

“No problem,” Jane declared. “Daria's an early bird.”

“Nothing like watching the sun rise,” she agreed. “Except watching the sun set in reverse,” she added with a mild smirk.

As intended, it got a round of laughter from her friends. And yes, she realised in that moment, that extended to Jesse as well, however casual their friendship might be.

“Good one Daria,” Trent complimented. “Hey, think that could be a song?”

“On its own? No. With some help? It's got potential,” Daria allowed, then narrowed her eyes at Jane. It was an expression that said “I will be demanding answers from you later.”

That 'later' was in the bathroom at Pizza King.

“You do appreciate you've sentenced _yourself_ to an early morning as well, right?” Daria demanded of her friend shortly. It wasn't an issue for her. Once she was awake, she was _awake_. Whatever the time was. Which, in the Lane household, did count as being an early bird.

Being awake didn't qualify her as a 'morning person' though. That would require being awake _and chipper_. And she was never 'chipper'.

“I know,” Jane admitted with a wince and a grimace. “But look at it this way, it's a chance for you to spend some quality time with Trent, and for me to spend some quality time with Jesse. With luck, I'll be able to get over the _he's my brother's best friend_ crush. Then again, the flea market is so romantic this time of year...” Jane allowed.

Daria raised an eyebrow behind her glasses in blatant scepticism.

“I hear the chia pets are in bloom,” Jane explained.

Daria rolled her eyes, and permitted that they should leave that female sanctuary of private conversation – the girls toilets – and rejoin their male counterparts.

~lalaLAlala~

“If we've got to be up early tomorrow, I'm going to bed now,” Daria said when they returned to Casa Lane.

“Good plan,” Jane agreed, and led the way inside.

“We'll wake you at six in the morning,” Trent promised as they climbed the stairs to the part of the house where sleeping happened.

“How will you manage that?” Daria queried, genuinely curious.

“It'll be easier to stay up all night than get up early,” Trent answered with surety.

“Get to the flea market, take a nap there,” Jesse agreed. “But if you girls sleep, then you'll be awake tomorrow to watch the stall while we catch some Z's.”

“Okay,” Daria agreed. “Well, g'night. See you in the morning,” she bid, and headed into the room Jane had given her, closing the door behind.

“That's new,” Trent declared softly, surprised, when he saw the sign on what he was sure was Summer's room. A sign that said 'Daria'.

“I made it,” Jane informed him. “Daria's practically part of the family, so when she called to ask if she could stay here while she avoided her parents friends, I cleaned out Summer's old room for her, and declared it now the secondary habitat of Daria Morgendorffer. Made one of these -” she jerked her thumb at the name plate, “- for you, me, and Jesse too.”

“Me?” Jesse asked, and pointed to himself, surprised.

“Of course!” Jane said. “If I'm declaring _my_ best friend to be family, then, as Trent's best friend, you are too.”

Jesse smiled, bashfully pleased by the declaration. “Thanks.”

“That's real cool of you Janey,” Trent told his little sister fondly.

“Yeah, well, that's now officially Daria's room when she's staying over,” Jane informed the guys.

“If you want, you can have Wind's old room,” Trent offered Jesse.  
“See, that's what I figured!” Jane agreed brightly.

“Thanks, but I'm okay with living out of my parents house,” Jesse said with a smile.

“If you say so,” Jane said with a shrug. “Well, g'night,” she said, and headed into her own room.

The next morning Jesse and Trent loaded the records into The Tank (which was still mostly clean, though there was a new vomit stain since the failed excursion to Alternapalooza) while the girls readied themselves to face the day. When they reached the flea market, they found the stall-space they'd been given, and the guys promptly zonked out, leaving the girls to do the setting up. Fair trade, _they_ hadn't forced themselves to stay awake all night.

Beside the boxes of records, Daria set a folded piece of paper behind a faded red handkerchief and claimed a stool. The folded piece of paper read: _If You Think My Music Is Good, Please Give_. She'd brought her twelve-string with her, and was content to play softly. This attracted curious individuals that could be loosely termed 'customers', and since they were there anyway, they looked through the merchandise. Since Daria wouldn't be drawn into conversation while playing, Jane was able to convince a number of these people to part with their money while simultaneously relieving her of the records they'd brought.

~lalaLAlala~

When the hour reached roughly lunch-o'clock, the crowd was still fairly thick around the table, since Daria was _still_ playing, but the merchandise had been reduced to the Zappa record that Trent and Jessie had been conducting 'experiments' with the previous day. Jane had sold the records to the crowd for a buck-fifty each, so there was a good amount of profit made off the hundred-and-thirty-odd records they'd brought along.

“Okay,” Daria declared, and lowered her hands from her guitar strings. “My fingers are bleeding from playing too long without a break.”

“Again?” Jane asked.

“Yep,” Daria confirmed, and reached for her guitar-case. She always kept band-aids in there with the spare strings and the various other guitar-playing accoutrement. Including a cloth to wipe the blood off the strings. “Time for me to pack up.”

There was a general 'aw' of complaint from the crowd, preceding a dispersal. A number of people _did_ drop more cash onto her handkerchief on the table before they left though.

The last of them had just vacated the area when Trent and Jesse finally woke up.

“Well Trent, now that you and Jesse have returned to the land of the living,” Jane said as she counted out the day's earnings. “Maybe you and Daria can go get me some soda?” she requested as she yawned looked longingly for a moment to the chair that her brother had stood from. “With caffeine?” she suggested, and returned to her counting.

“Good idea,” Trent answered with a smile. “Jesse, you'll keep an eye on Janey, right?”

“Sure man,” Jesse agreed. “Just bring me back a burger.”

“No problem,” Trent said with a nod. “Coming Daria?”

“Just let me finish putting on the band-aids,” she requested, having already shifted her kerchief full of money into her guitar-case, only slipping a little into her pocket for spending. She didn't think it all that likely that she'd spot anything around the flea market that she _really_ wanted. “Okay,” she said as she wrapped the last one around her right pinkie finger and pulled her guitar-case onto her back. She didn't want to risk her guitar being stolen, or sold by an absent-minded friend either, for that matter. Unlikely as the latter scenario might be. “I'm good to go.”

“So...” Trent started. “Janey said something about you avoiding your parent's friends this weekend?”

“Their sunny sixties optimism clashes with my bitter nineties cynicism,” Daria answered with a shrug. “Tries to cancel it out too, which is what really gets to me.”

“Hold-over hippies?” Trent asked, a tiny bit horrified. He couldn't properly muster up the energy to be _properly_ horrified.

“Yeah,” Daria admitted. “They're big believers in voluntary simplicity.”

Trent chuckled. “I gotta use that,” he said. “Sounds much better than 'broke'.”

Daria raised an eyebrow at the man. “I know for a fact that my mom is run off her feet with legal proceedings, so there can't be a shortage of subpoenas for you to deliver,” she quipped.

Trent coughed. “No,” he admitted. “There's always someone suing _someone_ in Lawndale,” he said ruefully. “Still, keeping up the house seems to sap the funds as quickly as they come some days.”

Daria nodded. “I can understand that,” she allowed. “As for the hippies... I guess we should give them some credit. Civil rights, environmentalism, the woman's movement... people believed in stuff back then.”

“I know,” said Trent. “What's up with that?”

Daria chuckled, and came to a halt. “Here we go. A source of sodas and burgers alike. That should satisfy Jane _and_ Jesse.”

“Right.”

They got a large cola for Jane, three regular-sized colas for the rest of them, and four burgers-with-fries.

“My theory is,” Jane declared when Daria and Trent returned with their bounty, “that our primitive hunting instinct has no outlet in modern society.”

“Cool,” Jesse said as he accepted his bag of food from Trent.

“So rather than stalking prey,” Jane continued as she took her food and large cola from Daria, “we substitute the shopping experience, and hunt for objects.”

“You're forgetting the predatory behaviours of the underclassmen looking for a date,” Daria corrected her friend. “But otherwise I don't disagree with you. Still, looking around this place, maybe the Yaegers are on to something. All these people swapping all this useless junk? At least they're not caught up in a consumer frenzy.”

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “I guess if you've got to hold onto something from the sixties, peace and love beats a _Get Smart_ lunch box.”

“Especially if the lunch is still in it,” Daria agreed cynically.

“Oh yeah, we sold the last record while you guys were gone,” Jesse said. “We're in the clear to abandon the booth and wander around if you want.”

“How about we just abandon the place all together,” Daria suggested.

“Why?” Jane asked, confused.

“Because Mr DeMartino is over there looking through magazines _with Upchuck_ ,” Daria answered, and pointed out the booth where, of all the words visible on the sign, 'Pulp' was the clearest and easiest to read.

“That's just disturbing,” Trent agreed with a shudder.

“Finish eating, and then we split,” Jesse recommended.

“Agreed,” Jane chorused quickly.

When Daria eventually returned to the house of her parents (two nights at Casa Lane and it was 'home' already), Jake declared that it was time for him to let go of the past. It seemed that they'd worked out their 'modern capitalist pigs' and 'stuck in the days of flower-power' issues with the Yaegers prior to Daria's return.

Jake offered Daria all his old records. Daria accepted, and promptly went inside to call Jane – and asked how she felt about the idea of repeating a trip to the flea market to sell yet more records.

Jane promised to rope Trent and Jesse into joining them again, and suggested Daria also bring her dad's old six-string to sell. She should be able to get a good enough price for it that she'd be able to afford a new... well, new _er_ acoustic six-string that _wasn't_ covered in hippie motifs.

It was agreed.

“Oh hey Daria?” Quinn called once her sister set the phone down.

“Yeah?”

Quinn smirked. “I got dirt,” she chirped proudly. “Wanna hear it?”

Daria smirked back. “Does that even need an answer?”


	15. Chapter 15

_Morality's not practical. Morality's a gesture. A complicated gesture learnt from books._ \- Robert Bolt

~lalaLAlala~

Neither of the two friends were quite sure how it happened, but the ability Mr O'Neill had to hear whatever he wanted in whatever you were saying was surely to blame. They'd had the misfortune of catching his notice as they left Playhouse 99's _Food in Film Festival_ screening of Andre Sacarinsky's _Last Meal_. It was a nineteen-thirties art film from Russia.

Worse than catching his notice, due to a sudden onset of severely inclement weather, they'd been forced to accept the man's offer of a lift back to their respective residences.

It was during this ride that O'Neill engaged them in conversation. A conversation which took a turn for the vaguely surreal when, out of the blue, it happened.

“That is a _fabulous_ class assignment Daria!” he said with enthusiastic delight. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Um... Did I _make_ a suggestion?” Daria asked seriously, and looked to Jane.

The other girl shrugged. She'd missed it, if it had happened.

“Because, if so, I'd like to withdraw it,” Daria said, though of course O'Neill didn't hear _that_.

The man was very good at hearing what he wanted to hear, unless you hit him over the head with cold, cruel words that didn't permit him to grasp on to any kind of rose-coloured world-view. Still, the incident was blamed on that thing O'Neill did, and which was probably a result of him living in a slightly different reality to the rest of the world.

“So,” O'Neill told their class the next day, “as an exercise in _living literature_ , you'll all be making your _own_ movies!” he declared happily. “We have Daria to thank for this exciting suggestion!”

“There's that word again,” Daria complained to a smirking Jane. “And why does he remember my name already when he was still messing up Kevin's when I got here?”

“Bad luck,” Jane said with an unsympathetic shrug.

Still, they paired together for the project, and Daria convinced Jake to let them borrow the Morgendorffer family video camera. Every group was having to get their hands on a camera their own way, and Daria fully expected a few to get stolen from the appropriately stocked stores around Lawndale. Other kids would do like Daria and Jane were doing – borrow from a parent – while some of the slightly more moneyed kids might actually buy a video camera, just for this project.

“What are we going to film?” Daria asked as they sat down in Casa Lane's kitchen to try and hash out a plan. Having a vague plan would be better than launching into a half-baked idea that... well, _wasn't good_.

“Andy Warhol filmed eight hours of a guy sleeping,” Jane suggested. “People thought it was brilliant.”

“Our classmates won't have the depth for that,” Daria countered. “Not unless something eventful happens to our sleeping victim, and Trent doesn't even drop his guitar when he sleeps.”

Jane smirked. “Who said anything about Trent?” she asked slyly.

“He's a guy who will sleep for eight hours that we have easy access to,” Daria answered flatly, not leaving room for her friend to get into teasing mode. To make absolutely sure of this, she went for a pre-emptive strike. “Unless you think _Jesse_ will be staying over before the project is due?” she asked.

“Um...” Jane hesitated, bit her lip, and then ploughed on. That is to say, she returned the topic of conversation back to its original point. “Okay, so, what are we going to film?”

“We could make a documentary,” Daria suggested.

“On what?” Jane asked, stifling laughter. “Not much in the way of documentary-worthy stuff in Lawndale.”

“We pick a subject, and we stalk them with a camera,” Daria answered firmly.

Jane sat up straight. “Ooh, now _this_ has potential. What if we did two, rather than just one, and created a comparison?” she proposed.

Daria narrowed her eyes at her friend. “What are you thinking _now_ Lane?” she demanded lowly.

“A sibling comparison, actually,” Jane explained with a smirk. “We'll get to laugh at your shallow sister a bit, and I'm sure she'd enjoy the attention.”

“She would,” Daria agreed.

“And we'll get a little insight into the secret life of Trent,” Jane continued. “A guy who, like many of our classmates, used to date girls like Quinn when he was in high school.”

Daria's eyebrows shot up. “He did?” she asked, shocked.

Jane nodded. “Monique was very much like Quinn back then, which was the reason for the first dumping. For most of high school, Trent took her back because you just didn't say 'no' when someone like Monique wanted to date you. Shortly after they graduated, she went through a phase where she bought him suits so that he'd blend in better with her friends, and make a better impression on her parents,” she said. “This was before she was infected with a love of bad rock and dying her hair.”

“Do I even want to know?” Daria asked. She hadn't, after all, actually met Monique yet.

“Well, she's naturally a blonde,” Jane admitted. “She dyes it black, though sometimes adds a bit of colour around her face.”

Daria shook her head. “As horrifying as that insight is, I maintain that eight hours of your brother sleeping through his own practice session isn't really a good idea,” she said.

“What if you were practising with him?” Jane suggested coyly. “He'd be awake then, and -”

“And all of our peers would suddenly know that I played the guitar,” Daria finished. “Some of them know already because, like us, they go to the Zon on those nights that the Spiral is playing. Besides, unlike my sister, I have no interest in having to face dealing with the paparazzi, and Trent may not be ready for it.”

“Hmm... good point,” Jane agreed.

“Here's another one,” Daria offered. “Will we even be able to stomach following Quinn around long enough to be able to get enough good film to edit an appropriately mocking film?”

Jane winced. “Urgh, doubtful,” she admitted. “Okay, so siblings are out for making a documentary.”

“Not necessarily,” Daria countered.

“Morgendorffer, what wonderful idea have you come up with?” Jane probed with building anticipation.

“Why not make our 'movie' into the Spiral's first ever music video?” Daria suggested. “We record them performing live at the Zon, McGrundy's, and the basement, mesh that together with some other, appropriate visuals to go with whichever song they do...”

Jane grinned. “It'll be a hit!”

~lalaLAlala~

The duo posed their idea to the band, and it has to be said, they loved it. In fact, they asked if it would be possible for the girls to make music videos for all their original songs.

“Some will be more possible than others,” Jane said frankly. “But if we're going to be filming your gigs and practice sessions here in the basement anyway, I don't see why we couldn't record all of your original stuff at once.”

“Very cool,” Trent declared with a pleased smile.

“Daria's idea,” Jane proclaimed. “Oh, but, can we not do the stuff you guys play in your second set? Because let's be honest, none of you would stay for the second set if you weren't in the band.”

“We're getting better,” Trent defended lightly, but didn't deny it.

“And we'd be able make extra copies for you guys, apart from what we need for O'Neill,” Daria added. “Maybe even send your stuff to MTV.”

“Woohoo!” Max cheered from behind his drum set. “Three cheers for Daria!”

Daria blushed as the whole band did, indeed, give her three cheers.

Their total list of original songs-that-didn't-completely-suck was five strong. This list included such well known hits for the band as _Icebox Woman_ , _Ow! My Face!_ , _Freakin' Friends_ , _Mr Normal_ , and _Misery Chick_ , which Daria had written the words for and handed over to Trent, to put to music for the band.

It was perhaps interesting to note that the music they created for that piece of poetry – completely independently of each other – was vastly different between the Spiral and Daria herself. Then again, the Spiral were very much into the grunge/punk sort of thing, where Daria did fingering on her twelve-string that would see duelling banjo players and flamenco guitarists seething with envy. So it wasn't so much of a surprise.

“Actually, we're working on another song right now,” Trent admitted, “and it will probably go into the first set, rather than the second set.”

“Yeah?” Jane asked. “Well, maybe we could document the creation of this new song?”

“What's it about?” Daria asked.

Max grinned. “The Tank!” he declared proudly.

The Spiral were writing a song... about their drummer's van. Well, that van had a lot of stories attached to it (a failed trip to Alternapalooza and a successful trip to the flea market, just to name two), so there were possibilities...

Jane grinned. “If we get some footage of The Tank as well, then that will add some real _context_ to this music video,” she said with ferocious glee. “This is gonna be _so_ awesome.”

~lalaLAlala~

The band, and the girls, all had fun making the music videos. Once the recording of the song performances was complete, then they got down to the fun, _interpretive_ stuff.

A hand entered the camera frame to put a heart in the Lane's freezer on the back shelf. They tried both a very red, very plastic, Valentine's Day type of heart, and a pig's heart Daria managed to con out of Lawndale's serving slaughter house. Of course, this was for _Icebox Woman_.

Lots of footage of The Tank for the new song about _it_ , a song also called _The Tank_. Footage of the band just hanging out together, and some other stuff appropriate to the lyrics (some of it simulated as well as could be done in the kitchen of Casa Lane) for _Freakin' Friends_.

Daria agreed to _be_ filmed for the _Misery Chick_ music video, but only because it wouldn't be shown to the population of Lawndale while she was still attending high school. Not even MTV would be sent _that_ video before her graduation. She and Jane had managed to get some footage of Brittany twirling her hair on her finger, and Quinn being shallow with the Fashion Club, to add into it. With their permission, of course. Well, vague permission. Quinn and Brittany both agreed to be filmed, and for Daria and Jane to use that small amount of footage they had requested, but they didn't know what it was _for_.

Nor would they.

Okay, Brittany had some idea. She was in their class and had to do the same project. As for Quinn...well, Quinn was just always happy any time she was in front of a camera and knew that _she_ was its focal point.

The expose of the creative process and following music video for _The Tank_ were a big hit with the class, and with Mr O'Neill.

Jane was able to return to Casa Lane that evening and recommend that the Spiral create a CD single of _The Tank_ for sale at their gigs, since the video had made it such a popular song that even the kids who _weren't_ in their class had been humming it by the end of the day.

“We don't really have the recording equipment for that Janey,” Trent pointed out.

“Hey, I've still got the whole song on the computer from the editing process. I should be able to separate the audio track and burn a few discs,” Jane offered. “You'd just have to buy the blank discs and a CD burner.”

“That second thing won't exactly be cheap,” Trent pointed out. He closed his eyes and rolled his head around his shoulders as he thought. “But I guess we have a bit of cash around the place,” he allowed. “If you don't mind not eating for a couple of days.”

“I'll live,” Jane said firmly. “We've done it before after all.”

“No lie there,” Trent agreed with barely-hidden resentment. He was a laid back guy, but Vincent and Amanda Lane were neglectful. Trent did his best to not let Jane realise that it was him, and not their parents, who made sure things got paid for. Did his best to make it at least look like the money that he brought in had actually come from their parents. His baby sister didn't quite need that bit of harsh reality thrown at her just yet.

“So go get the CD burner and some CDs!” Jane instructed her older brother happily, and started pushing him towards the door.


	16. Chapter 16

_We define genius as the capacity for productive reaction against one's training._ \- Bernard Berenson

~lalaLAlala~

“But it's fun! And it looks good on your transcript,” Jodie insisted, trying to get Daria to join her in working on the yearbook. Specifically, for some reason, the photography meeting.

“I'm against both those things,” Daria responded flatly.

“Free film and developing,” Jodie said.

“Now, I find that offer tempting,” Jane joined in, her tone thoughtful. “But that's for me, not Daria.”

“I'm not much of a photographer,” Daria agreed.

“If your parents find out you're even considering it though,” Jane pointed out, letting her tone lead toward possibilities.

Jodie smirked and picked up on it. “You should be able to squeeze a good-sized bribe out of 'em,” she agreed.

Daria looked narrowly at the girl who would, without doubt, be their class valedictorian when they graduated. “You want sane company there, don't you?” she asked shrewdly.

Jodie winced slightly, and really, that was admission enough.

Daria sighed and looked over at Jane. “Well, your the one who's going to Art School when we graduate,” she led.

“Nope, business school. I can do the art. I just need the business plan to be able to make it big,” Jane corrected. Then winced. “Which makes having good stuff on my transcript even more important. Damn.”

“I'll make sure I can share my bribe with you,” Daria promised. “But you two will keep anybody perky far, _far_ away from me.”

“Agreed,” Jodie said quickly. “ _Thank you_ Daria, Jane. Really.”

“Don't expect us to do this again next year,” Jane warned. “Or the year after.”

“What exactly do you need help with?” Daria queried. After all, Jodie was actually smart enough to have a need when she asked for help from the class cynic. Such needs weren't the only reason they spoke though, which Daria appreciated, since Jodie was one of the few with a brain in the school, even if she was part of the 'popular' crowd.

“I just need help getting through the class lists,” Jodie explained. “Getting a picture-day wallet-sized of everyone. I call the parents, asking them to send the yearbook a copy, they send envelopes with the pictures in. I need to cross-check who I've got and who I need to still call.”

“That, I can do,” Daria agreed.

“And there's always call for interesting snap-shots of the school and the students,” Jodie added to Jane. “Even, or rather, especially the embarrassing moments.”

Jane smirked. “Sold.”

~lalaLAlala~

Helen, Jake and Daria sat at the kitchen table discussing the compensation options for getting Daria to work on the yearbook. Normally, she'd go for cash, but with the Spiral selling singles of _The Tank_ out of their gigs – the only song that Jane had still had the audio track of from their venture into making music videos – Daria had come to the conclusion that some recording equipment and/or software would be the way to go.

“Software it is!” Jake declared happily, withdrawing the cash offer made by Helen.

Daria took a copy of her wallet-sized and Quinn's wallet-sized to the next yearbook meeting, just so that she could definitely cross those two names off the cross-check list. Neither of them were graduating that year, but the idea of a yearbook was to have a picture of every student in it, and goodness knows _sales_ would go up if there was a picture of Quinn in the damn thing.

“Thank you so much for this Daria,” Jodie said again when they sat down together in the corner of the room where they'd been set up with class lists and a phone.

“You're welcome,” Daria muttered back.

In another part of the room, Jane and the yearbook's photo editor, a kid who was new to the school and went by the name of Ted, were tentatively hitting it off. For all the kid _looked_ cookie-cutter, he also claimed to like Goya.

Couple of dates in though and the kid proved way too normal for Jane's taste. One little trip to the arcade and some accidental bonding with some jock-types who'd wanted more pages for sports in the yearbook... All potential romance went swiftly down the drain.

Still, Daria got recording software out of the venture, and yearbook would look good on college applications.

~lalaLAlala~

“Daria, I'm so proud of you, Honey!” Helen enthused when she got the news that, due to Daria's academic prowess, she'd been invited to visit the highly exclusive school. Helen even went so far as to hug her. If anyone under the age of twenty had been a witness to that, she might never have lived it down. In fact, up to and including persons aged twenty-one. Read: the members of Spiral.

“Grove Hills!” Helen enthused with a sigh. “The friends you make there could really launch your career!”

“And why study when you can network?” Daria asked sarcastically.

“It's just a visit Daria,” Helen reminded her.

“You're assuming I can even _make_ friends with these people,” Daria reprimanded lightly. “Because we all know what a social butterfly _I_ am.”

Helen winced. “You're right,” she admitted, and bit her lip. “If I _pay_ you, will you at least _try_?” she asked.

“How much?”

“Twenty?”

“Hundred.”

“Fifty.”

“Done.”

“Hey, how come you never offer _me_ a bribe?” Jake asked as he took his seat at the table so that he could eat his re-heated slice of frozen lasagne.

“How about this,” Daria said before Helen could give an answer. “We give Jodie a lift, since her parents won't be able to get her there early enough otherwise, but otherwise it be just you and me going to Grove Hill?” she offered Jake.

“You mean... father-daughter bonding?” Jake asked hopefully.

“Only in the car,” Daria said firmly. “You'll get to _network_ with the other parents that will be there.”

“Deal!”

“Daria, really?” Helen asked a little sadly.

“Do you really want to leave Quinn home on her own?” Daria countered. “After she had a _kegger_ here and one of the guys who came threw up in your closet?”

Helen sighed. “You have a point,” she admitted.

“Also, I'm taking my guitar and notebook.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Hello, and welcome to Grove Hills,” greeted the local version of... and it was probably unkind, but probably the local version of Jodie. Okay, the girl was white and blonde, rather than cocoa brown with black hair tightly bound in dozens of tiny braids, but still. “I'm Marina.”

“I'm Jodie.”

“Daria.”

“Jodie, Daria. I'd like you to meet Lara, Graham and Cassidy,” Marina said, but didn't in any way indicate which of the kids was which. Good guess that Graham was _probably_ the guy though. Marina turned to one of the students. “Lara, why don't you fill Jodie and Daria in on the many advantages of a Grove Hills education?”

The Asian-looking girl of the group answered, so she was probably Lara. “Well, number one, you only have to put up with _shrill recruiters_ at phony functions like _this_ ,” she said.

The comment effectively drove away Marina.

“And you're not surrounded by nearly as many stupid people as you would be at home,” added the other girl – presumably Cassidy – once Marina was gone.

“Starting with your parents!” finished Graham. He laughed at his own joke, but Lara, Cassidy and Jodie had all laughed at the same time.

Daria held it in. She didn't like spending time with her parents, and they didn't understand her most of the time, but she knew they weren't stupid. Still, she'd promised her mother to try, so for now, she would reserve judgement.

Soon enough, they were ushered off to watch a short film about all that Grove Hills had to offer, and because sitting with Jodie was better than alternatives, Daria found herself watching the film from the front row.

“ _... engage in conversational Latin over a delicious meal,”_ the film said in a snobbishly cultured voice.

“Dump bodies into the river from our scenic bell tower,” she muttered quietly to Jodie.

Jodie giggled before she was shushed by the girl on her other side.

Daria smirked. She knew the girl had it in her.

“I hope everyone enjoyed our little film,” Marina said from the stage when the lights came up.

A general murmur of non-committal assent did a round of the students present. Parents were watching a similar film in a different room.

“Great! I think a _super_ way to start this meet-and-greet session would be to tell a little about our goals in life,” Maria declared. “Who'd like to start?” she asked hopefully.

And right then it was clear that she probably hadn't done this before. You didn't ask students in a collected body stuff like that. Still, Jodie obliged. Go-getter that she was.

“Well, some day I'd like to own my own business,” Jodie declared, then shrugged as she continued, as though she wasn't _quite_ sure what sort of business it would be yet. “Maybe a consulting firm geared towards helping minority start-ups.”

“Excellent!” Marina said with a smile, and a tilt of her head that Daria had seen Quinn use many times over the years. Still, she seemed to be a fast learner, since rather than asking 'who would like to go next?' she picked on someone by name. Unfortunately, she picked on - “Daria, what about your goal?” she asked.

“Short or long term?” Daria countered.

“Long term,” Marina said with a smile, looking truly hopeful.

“My long-term goal is not to wake up when I'm forty with the bitter realisation that I've wasted my life in a job I hate, because I was forced to decide on a career in my teens,” Daria informed the woman – and the room at large.

Marina laughed nervously.

~lalaLAlala~

“They say high school is supposed to be the happiest time of your life,” Graham said.

Daria had decided to stick with Jodie for now, rather than abandon the girl to the snobs straight away. Unfortunately, that meant they met up with the three Grove Hills kids they'd been introduced to by Marina earlier.

“That is something that depends entirely on your perspective,” Daria stated plainly.

“Our happiest years will begin when we make our first million,” Graham declared with an anticipatory smirk. “I can't _wait_ to stroll down the Riviera with a model on each arm!”

“Gee, that's interesting,” Daria said with a dry look at Jodie. “I guess you can be intellectually gifted, and still be morally bankrupt.”

“I certainly hope so!” Graham said with a grin that was all teeth, and then laughed obnoxiously.

“Oh my _gawd_ ,” Lara exclaimed lowly when she spotted someone from across the room.

“I can't believe David has the nerve to show up,” Graham agreed when he spotted the same person Lara had.

“Who does he think he is?” Lara demanded softly, a look of pure contempt on her face.

“What did he do?” Jodie asked. “Cheat on a test?”

“Worse,” Cassidy answered derisively. “We got our S.A.T scores back today, and David's were only in the ninetieth percentile. Idiot.”

“I just can't hang out with him any more,” Lara declared. “He's too... _banal_.”

“And he used to be _so_ interesting,” Graham lamented callously. He clearly didn't really care all that much about the loss of the guy as a friend.

“How fortunate for you that you have standardised test that can tell you who you real friends are,” Daria quipped with flat sarcasm.

“Right!” Graham agreed at once. “I mean, ...amusing,” he corrected himself.

“After all,” Daria continued before he could distance himself. “Those models you're planning on walking down the Riviera with will be as intellectually gifted as they will be well-endowed, right?” she asked scathingly. “What's your IQ?” she demanded, cutting short his outrage.

“One-sixty-five!” Graham answered sharply and with superiority.

“Congratulations,” Daria said, bored. “Mine's two-hundred even, and I _still_ make sure that I have room to learn something new from people who aren't as naturally brainy as me.”

“What?!” Cassidy exclaimed.

“Why?” Lara demanded.

Graham scoffed. “What could they possibly educate a genius on?” he sneered.

“Well, one of them taught me how to strum a guitar,” Daria said. “And another talks to me about artists that I've never heard of, but she has because she's into art in a way I'm not.”

“There are different types of genius,” Jodie contributed. “And despite your one-sixty-five IQ, you're still boring and miserable! Try taking your head out of your _butt_ for once and opening up your myopic little eye. Or doesn't your one-sixty-five IQ make you smart enough to see the way you really are?” she demanded.

“I'll make sure you never set foot in this school again!” Graham spat.

“That's not a threat,” Daria said plainly. “We don't want to be here,” she explained when he put on a confused face. She then turned to Jodie. “Let's find somewhere quiet, and make it slightly less so,” she recommended, and set a hand on the guitar-case at her back.

Jodie smiled. “Sounds like a plan,” she agreed gratefully.

“Admit it,” Daria said as she and Jodie settled on a stone bench outside in an otherwise deserted courtyard. “That felt good.”

“Well, maybe a little,” Jodie agreed.

Daria raised an eyebrow behind her glasses.

“Okay, maybe a lot,” Jodie admitted.

“Busting on jerks, like Graham, is one of life's few pleasures,” Daria pronounced sagely as she removed her twelve-string from its case. “You should try it more often,” she suggested as she set the instrument in her lap and checked the tuning.

“Oh shut up,” Jodie requested.

“Good start,” Daria riposted with a smirk.

“You realise having a negative approach to everything is self-defeating, right?” Jodie queried.

“Yup,” Daria agreed. “But I don't have a negative approach to everything, just a lot of stuff. Most stuff,” she acknowledged. “And I generally keep my positive approach restricted to things I know will work out.”

Jodie sighed. “You know that you miss out on a lot of good stuff, even though that negative approach protects you from a lot of the bad stuff as well, don't you?” she pressed. “Cutting everyone off...”

“Jodie, I'm too smart and too sensitive to live in a world like ours, at a time like this, with a sister like mine,” Daria stated plainly. “I know I miss out on stuff, but this attitude is what works for me.”

“Then you'll understand what works for me,” Jodie said softly. “At home, I'm Jodie, and can say or do whatever feels right. At school, I'm the queen of the Negroes. The _perfect_ African-American teen. The role model for all of the other African-American teens at Lawndale – _oops_!” she faked, and brought a hand to her mouth. “Where'd they go? Believe me,” she said, dropping her hand back into her lap. “I'd _like_ to be more like you.”

“Writing poetry and playing guitar work for me as a stress relief,” she offered, “and, I will admit, that there are times, just occasionally, when I'd like to be more like you,” Daria added.

“Really?” Jodie asked, flattered.

“I'm not saying _all_ the time,” Daria said quickly.

“So, Lawndale, or Grove Hills?” Jodie propositioned.

“Are you kidding?” Daria countered with a raised eyebrow. “For the first time in my life, I have people I _want_ to talk to, and with the exception of a couple of graduates, they're _all_ at Lawndale.”

“Who?” Jodie asked curiously.

“Jane, you, and Mack,” Daria listed off shortly. “And Brittany is okay too,” she admitted. The girl had a brain beneath her pigtails, even if she wasn't generally much of a thinker. “Besides, if I came here, I'd end up poisoning the Sloppy Joe mix.”

Jodie chuckled humourlessly. “You're right about that,” she agreed. “I'm pushed to the breaking point being 'Miss Model-Student' at Lawndale. A year here might kill me.”

~lalaLAlala~

“So, Honey, how was Grove Hills?” Helen asked hopefully.

“Send me there, and I _will_ commit mass homicide,” Daria informed the lawyer.

Helen paled. “Oh,” she said softly.

“However, I do have some new ideas for my writing that I want to share with the Lanes,” Daria added with a smile.

Helen's tense posture softened as she remembered that, yes, her daughter actually had _friends_ now, and those friends were at Lawndale. “As long as you're happy, Daria,” she said. “That's all that matters.”


	17. Chapter 17

_In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends._ \- John Churton Collins

~lalaLAlala~

The Spiral, Jane and Daria were planning on going for a burger – no, not one for all of them to share – after the band had finished their single set at McGrundy's. They'd managed to get the crowd to cheer back 'my nose' and 'my face' after the 'ow' portion of _Ow! My Face!_ and Daria needed to use the bathroom. She didn't have to worry about her guitar here, since she wasn't playing tonight – she only performed in the break between the Spiral's sets, and they'd only been given _one_ set tonight. No break for her to perform in.

“I can't stand this!” exclaimed a familiar squeaky voice from beneath dripping black hair, which topped a similarly black version of the cheerleader uniform and red tights. “What was I thinking!?”

“Brittany?” Daria asked, shocked at the girl who so easily looked _nothing_ like herself just by dying her hair black and letting it down from its usual pigtails.

The girl straightened and turned to Daria. “Alright, so Kevin is a stupid, selfish, conceited _jerk_ , he's still better than Terry, or Jerry, or whatever his name was!” she said angrily. “And this stupid club!”

“And a lot of guys are better than Kevin,” Daria answered the girl, rather than prying into who Terry or Jerry was. It was rather obvious that Brittany had tried going out with someone _new_ after breaking it off with Kevin this time, rather than just waiting for another reconciliation.

“Oh no!” Brittany exclaimed. “I've said too much!”

Daria sighed. “Brittany, as much as we generally move in different circles at school... Here,” she offered, and helped the girl wring out her hair.

“Daria?” Trent's voice came from the door. “You in there?”

“Yeah,” Daria called back. “Could you send in Jane, there's a mutual friend of ours in need in here.”

“Uh, okay,” Trent agreed.

Jane entered the bathroom a few seconds later, and was just as stunned at the presence of the head cheerleader as Daria had been.

“Brittany?” Jane exclaimed in surprise.

“Hi Jane,” Brittany answered sadly.

“Help me wring out her hair,” Daria commanded her friend. “McGrundy's has enough stains around the place without adding black hair-dye splashes to the carpet.”

“Gotcha,” Jane agreed, and Brittany's hair was divided into three sections – each girl squeezing one section dry.

When it was no longer dripping, Jane braided the three sections and tucked the end into a loop of hair at the base of the girl's skull, to keep it from unwinding too quickly. It would also mean any further drips would be caught by the black shirt.

“What _are_ you doing here Brittany?” Jane finally asked, unable to contain herself any longer.

“I don't know,” the natural-blonde admitted sadly, shoulders slumped. “Kevin's a jerk.”

“Kevin didn't bring you here,” Jane said firmly.  
“No. We had a fight and broke up again last week. I came here with a different jerk,” Brittany replied unhappily, arms crossed over her buxom bosom.

“Expanding social horizons,” Daria quipped. “Think the band would mind another for company?”

“Now, that would depend on if we plan on making a sale first,” Jane answered softly.

“Sale?” Brittany repeated curiously, picking up on the word she knew best and held dear to her heart.

The berries from the camping trip had been a big hit with the would-be hard-cores of Lawndale. A couple of bushes had been quietly collected from that patch of woods by Jane, with Trent and Daria's help, and re-planted in a corner of the Lane's back yard. Jane had made a quiet business out of it. One berry per sale for immediate consumption upon purchase. There would be _no_ slipping these into an unsuspecting victim's food.

They had, in fact, tried that with O'Neill. It turned out that the man was allergic to berries. Not deadly so, but he'd looked like one giant bee-sting in addition to claiming he was seeing ponies made of rainbows and clowns dressed in brightly coloured velvet as they cried.

It had been a sight to see, and 'horrific' was the only word appropriate to describe it. They hadn't dared try slipping one to DeMartino. Daria had an uncomfortable feeling he'd react like Jake had – stripping himself of his clothes and talking to a spirit animal. She had too much respect for the unfortunate man to be able to do that to him.

Jane was the only one who actually dealt the berries. Trent stuck with being on the up and up, and Daria actually had a slightly greater sense of guilt than her friend, as much as she denied having a conscience at all. Like she'd told Jodie (in a rare moment of honesty) she was just too sensitive.

Jane used the money she made from her exclusive little fruit stand to buy art supplies.

In response to Brittany's query, Daria pulled a zip-lock plastic bag out of Jane's shirt pocket. There were two berries in it.

“These,” Daria informed the cheerleader, “are called glitter berries.” Quinn had actually come up with the name while under the effects, and it had stuck. It wasn't the actual scientific name of the berry, but they didn't really much care.

“I sell them to people who don't like looking at the world the way it is,” Jane explained.

“Oh,” Brittany said, and stared at the little bag for a moment. “I just don't want to look at Kevin,” she said plainly.

“I'll take one,” called a voice from one of the bathroom stalls. “How much? And what's the let-down like?”

“No let down,” Jane answered, and claimed the baggie from Daria. “It's an all-natural trip. It will take a half-hour to kick in, but the effects last for as long as this little fruit is in your digestive system. You purge, you lose the trip. As a bonus, it's not addictive at _all_ , so you won't feel any weird cravings for more berries if you decide you don't like the experience.”

“Come on Brittany,” Daria advised. She didn't want their school mate to watch Jane sell a hallucinogenic berry to a stranger. Witnesses weren't the best for such clandestine dealings. The berry wasn't on any 'illegal drugs' list, so they wouldn't ever be 'busted' for selling it, but still. “You should really go home.”

“Yeah. Um, you won't tell Kevin about Terry, or Jerry, or whatever his name was, right?” Brittany asked softly as they left the bathroom.

“Brittany, neither Jane or myself are particularly inclined to talk to Kevin at all, so I can fairly safely promise you we won't tell him,” Daria answered.

“Thanks Daria.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Uh, Daria? I wanted to talk to you about something,” Jake said nervously at breakfast the next day, a pamphlet clutched in his hands. “Have you seen this pamphlet?” he asked, and passed it to her.

Daria accepted the slim little document and took note of the title. “'Is your teenager using drugs? Ten warning signs',” she read, and opened it up. She wasn't using drugs. Oh no. She valued her brain far too much for such a thing. She just watched as Jane dealt it to the unhappy masses in extremely controlled doses. “In my opinion,” Daria said as she read through the list. “Quinn's clean.”

“What?” Quinn asked from across the table. She'd been eating her breakfast and not paying attention to the extremely stilted conversation.

“I, uh, was thinking... more about you, Daria,” Jake admitted with a nervous chuckle and worried glances between both of his daughters.

“I value my ability to get through high school without putting forth a great deal of effort far too much,” she stated plainly as she handed the pamphlet back. “Still, when you're worried about drugs, you're supposed to sneak around spying on the person and searching through their sock drawer. You're not supposed to just hand them a pamphlet like this.”

“Oh,” Jake said softly as he took back his pamphlet. “Hey Kiddo, which one is your sock drawer?”

“Daria is not doing drugs Daddy,” Quinn said plainly. “They'd interfere with her brain. Like I don't go near drugs because people who do use drugs are _really_ unattractive.”

“Oh.”

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was alternately sketching a mocking portrait of O'Neill as a court jester, and working on a new piece of poetry – the working title was _cheerleader in a grunge club_. It was proving much more difficult than _Misery Chick_ had been. That one had just come together almost on its own.

“Arrogant, proud, vain, thuggish – King Lear is _all_ of these and worse, and yet... if we tilt our figurative head to the side and squint _just so_ ,” O'Neill was saying from the front of the class, “isn't he also just a little... _cuddly_?” he asked.

Daria blinked at the sight of a great red splotch forming – and growing – before her very eyes on the back of her hand.

“What _is_ it about tyrants that makes them so charismatic? Why, our own Ms Li -”

“Excuse me,” Daria said, and raised her _other_ hand.

“Yes Daria?” O'Neill asked, surprised at the interruption.

“I seem to be having an adverse reaction to the concept of King Lear being cuddly,” she informed him, and pointed to the still-spreading redness on the back of her hand. In fact (not that Daria could see) it had just started spreading up her neck.

His eyes widened. “Oh my. Uh... perhaps you'd better go to see Nurse Chase,” he bid, and waved in such a way that indicated she should hurry out of the room.

Nurse Chase, upon seeing her, was _very_ professional. She let out a heartfelt “ewww” and promptly called Helen – for permission to send Daria to the hospital.

~lalaLAlala~

“Friends, not family, right?” the doctor, Philips, asked when Jane, Trent and Jesse all showed up at the door of Daria's hospital room. He'd been there to inform Daria that all the tests were coming back negative. She wasn't sick or allergic to anything. All wonderful news, except that they still had no explanation for how or why she was red all over.

Jane raised an eyebrow at the man. “How could you tell?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Daria seems happy to see you,” the man answered simply, a wry smile on his face. “I'll stop by later,” Philips promised Daria, and showed himself out.

“Yeah,” Daria agreed.

“Ooh-la- _la_ ,” Jane commented once the good doctor was gone. “Doctor, I have a pain,” she faked dramatically.

“Please,” Daria answered flatly. And then the sarcasm reared its head. “The man is a butcher. Look what he's done to my face.”

“You are pretty red,” Jane commiserated. “Um... what is it?”

“So far, the tests are all negative,” Daria explained. “Except that I'm consistently this blotchy red all over, I'm in perfect health and nothing is wrong with me. It doesn't even itch.”

“You don't suppose that maybe you really _are_ allergic to Mr O'Neill calling King Lear _cuddly_ , do you?” Jane speculated tentatively.

“I know that I always got dizzy in economics class,” Trent offered.

“That might have something to do with Mrs Bennet's diagrams,” Daria countered with an amused smile.

Trent nodded in allowance as he chuckled and sat on the side of Daria's bed. Then he took one of her hands in his.

“Hey,” he said to her, his eyes locked on her own and not wavering. “You'll get past this.”

“You will,” Jesse agreed, fully believing. “And then you'll turn the whole experience into a really awesome song.”

“Daria?” came a soft, enquiring voice from the door.

“Brittany? What are you doing here?” the bed-ridden, rash-covered girl asked.

Brittany (with her hair currently _grey_ with a few darker streaks and still black only at the tips after her experiment with hair dye, and back up in its two usual pig tails) stepped into the room, now sure that she had the right one.

“Well, you were there for me the other night at McGrundy's, and I was worried when you weren't at school today after you left Mr O'Neill's class _yesterday_ , so I asked Jane where you were and she said you were _here_ , so I came to see how you were,” the girl explained.

She didn't take a single breath that any of the other occupants of the room could tell.

“Um... you're kinda red,” Brittany said, concern written all over her face and saturating her voice.

“Yes,” Daria acknowledged, “but I'm probably okay.”

“Great!”

“Room for us in there?” Mack asked, poking his head around the door.

“Hey Daria,” Jodie added from beside him.

“Same story as Brittany,” Jane said, pre-empting her friend's question. “They noticed your absence and pestered me for details.”

“And we wanted to see for ourselves how you were,” Mack added.

“I'm probably okay,” Daria repeated.

“So that's cool,” Mack agreed.

“For a human lobster,” Daria finished.

“So you're a little red,” Jodie allowed. “It could happen to anybody.”

“I know,” Daria said with a sigh. “I just wish it weren't happening to _me_. I really don't need this.”

“Because you're perfectly capable of alienating people on personality alone,” Jane quipped.

“And yet I have so many people visiting me in my sickbed,” Daria countered.

Trent squeezed her fingers gently. “We care about you,” he informed her.

“Right,” Jesse agreed with a nod, “and not just because you made music videos for our band.”

Daria smiled softly as she looked down at her lap – next to which lay her hand, wrapped up in Trent's.

“Well, if I have six people outside of family who genuinely care enough to show up when I'm in hospital, then I count myself very lucky,” she said softly. “Thanks guys. I know you could have just sent flowers.”

“Being there for each other is what friends _do_ ,” Brittany declared sincerely.

The final verdict was that the rash was brought on by anxiety. Doctor Philips gave her a scrip for if it didn't go away on its own.

“Great tell-sign,” Jane quipped at the news. “You start turning red, we know you're due some R and R time. Really though, I'm glad you're okay, _Amiga_.”


	18. Chapter 18

_Lord, defend me from my friends; I can account for my enemies._ \- Charles D'H é ricault

~lalaLAlala~

“Those who do not volunteer must voluntarily buy a ticket, or voluntarily _face suspension_ ,” Ms Li informed them.

“That's probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Daria said quietly to Jane.

The school was going to hold a medieval themed fair to raise money. The library roof had caved in the day before. Daria personally felt _very_ lucky. She'd left the library building after the first drip landed on the book she was reading. If she'd just moved to a different part of the library where the roof _hadn't_ been leaking... well, Kevin and his _new_ girlfriend, who had been making out between the shelves, were sporting bandages and ice packs.

Yes, new girlfriend. Another cheerleader. The girl had valued her friendship with Brittany (and her place on the squad) enough that she asked if it was really okay for her to date the QB. Brittany had actually moved on after her brief chat with Daria in the bathroom at McGrundy's, and was even kind of enjoying the liberties of being single and browsing rather than just grabbing the next single football player to cross her path.

Her exact words had been: “Zoe, if you can stand going out with a stupid, selfish, inconsiderate jerk like Kevin, then he's all yours.”

But back to Ms Li and the medieval fair to raise money for a new library roof -

“We gotta go!” Jane said with a smile.

“Jane... volunteering looks good on resumes and college applications,” Daria pointed out, reluctantly. “And they're going to need signs and costumes.”

“Ooh, good point,” Jane agreed happily. “Still, we _gotta_ go.”

Daria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, fine,” she allowed.

“And since you raise the point of costumes, I'm gonna make costumes for _us_ to wear while we wander around the place,” Jane declared firmly.

“Alright everybody,” O'Neill said when Ms Li left the room and the 'excited chatter' around the room had gone on for what he deemed to be long enough. “We still have class. Now, why do you think Tolstoy had to make _War and Peace_ so darn... _unpleasant_?” he asked the class. “Daria?”

“So that no one would pester him to do a sequel?” she suggested.

~lalaLAlala~

“What the hell kind of madness has struck you _this_ time, Lane?” Daria demanded when her friend presented her with a gown of forest green – the same colour as her usual jacket – that genuinely looked like something out of the days of King Stephen, rather than 'generic and inaccurate medieval' that the volunteers at the fair would be wearing.

“I got you a matching Trent, too,” Jane said with a smirk, already dressed in a black-and-red version of the same gown. “His green tunic is a bit more faded though, just like his green T-shirts.”

“How did you talk _Trent_ into wearing a period costume?” Daria asked, a little stunned.

“Believe it or not, Trent actually asked,” Jane informed her, though clearly the idea still threw _her_ for a loop as well. “He caught me on the sewing machine when he came back from grocery shopping, said he'd seen the posters for the fair, and actually wants to come too. Now go get changed! Trent's giving us a ride.”

“Not in The Tank, right?” Daria queried, but accepted the dress.

“Nah,” Jane agreed. “We're going in Trent's Plymouth. It'll get as far as the school without killing itself, and no one will steal it, so we'll have a ride back too.”

“That's definitely a relief,” Daria said, and headed to her room in the Lane house to trade her usual look for the really quite beautiful dress that Jane had made for her.

~lalaLAlala~

There were questionable stalls all around the place with signs (many painted by Jane for extra credit) that used only-just-legible lettering styles. There was someone doing palmistry, someone selling leather pieces, someone selling 'blackbird pies', and someone selling home-made candles – which was actually a little bit cool. There were also more people wandering around in costume than were stuck being volunteers, so that was good. They weren't the only ones.

There were various teachers around the place too, as of course they had to be. Mrs Bennet was dressed as a witch and sitting on a platform over a decent-size pool of water, just waiting to be dunked, but she was still dry. This was likely thanks to the fact that a big line and something like a crowd was at the jousting ring. Mr DeMartino was the Black Knight, and was taking on all challengers.

He was finally _allowed_ to hit his ignoramus students.

Daria and Jane stepped aside to wait while Trent considered the candles – he wanted a couple of scented ones to help the creative juices flow – and were promptly approached by Charles Ruttheimer the third, sometimes known simply as Chuck, but more commonly referred to as Upchuck. He was wearing a hat that had _bells_ on it. His curly-toed shoes had bells on them too.

“Would either of you lovely ladies be interested in a madrigal?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” both girls answered at the same time.

“I am the brave Sir Chuck, Sir Chuck,” he sang for them, despite their answer. Surprisingly, his fingers plucked out an acceptable little ditty on the lute he was carrying. “Many and strong and quick.”

“I'm going to cut out your tongue, your tongue,” Jane countered. “And fry it up on a _stick_.”

Daria smirked at the very idea, and just as Upchuck was about to declare 'feisty' – as he so frequently did when he was put down sharply – Trent stepped up, his purchase complete, and glared at the horny little creep from his greater height behind the girls.

Upchuck swallowed nervously, looked around, and spotted another person to bother. “Hey Andrea! Do you like madrigals?” he called out as he ran over to her.

“Don't _touch_ me, you howdy-doody-looking _creep_ ,” the girl answered as she side-stepped.

~lalaLAlala~

“Okay, our options seem to be attempting archery, getting our fortunes told by Ms Barch, going to watch Brittany at the dinner theatre -” she'd landed the lead role, “- dunking Mrs Bennet, or riding the Ferris Wheel,” Jane listed off.

“Even though it could count as a sport, I actually vote for archery,” Daria said, not even able to believe it herself.

Then they spotted Helen taking up a bow, a woman who looked like Quinn's 'friend' Sandi right next to her.

“On second thought,” Daria corrected, and turned away.

“Yeah, that's not going to be pretty,” Jane agreed.

“Ferris Wheel then,” Trent suggested, and the trio headed over to the ride in silent agreement.

“Sorry,” the guy running it said. “Safety regulations say only two to a basket.”

“I'll ride separately,” Jane offered with a smirk.

“Thanks Janey,” Trent said.

“Yes,” Daria agreed dryly, very aware of what her friend was up to. “Yours is a supreme sacrifice.”

This proved to be completely true a few minutes later when a weeping, wailing Stacy climbed into the same basket as Jane.

“Okay. I really need to get Janey something better than art supplies this year,” Trent said as the ride moved. “I didn't really want to get her art supplies _again_ this year anyway, but now it really has to be awesome. Any ideas Daria?”

“She likes having music to listen to when she's running,” Daria offered. “And the Walkmann company just brought out a CD player that isn't much bigger than the CDs themselves.”

Thankfully, this plotting could not be heard by Jane over Stacy's crying.

“Then... what will _you_ get her?” Trent asked.

“I'm going to get her art supplies,” Daria answered flatly. “Depending on what she's running out of by then. I'll stick with the simple stuff I know she'll appreciate for a little while longer yet.”

“I guess that's fair enough,” Trent agreed. “Hey Daria?”

“Yeah?”  
“When's _your_ birthday?” Trent asked.

“It was actually yesterday,” Daria answered.

Trent blinked as that sank in. “You didn't say anything,” he stated. “Or Janey would have said something. I know she would have. You were at our house all day yesterday after school.”

“No,” Daria admitted. “I didn't say anything. You guys have already given me a room of my own at your house and a _key_ to let myself in any time, and all without acknowledging that I was getting older.”

“Still would have been nice to be able to make a bit of a big deal about it though,” Trent informed her softly. “Have a cake.”

“I haven't had a birthday cake of my own since Quinn was born,” Daria admitted softly, and a little bit bitterly.

Trent lay a long-fingered, guitar-calloused, warm hand over one of Daria's smaller ones. “Next year, we're going to celebrate your birthday properly,” he promised her. “I never liked math, but I know that you having your birthday yesterday means we missed two of them since knowing you.”

Goodness but how quickly the time had gone.

“But hey, you're seventeen now, right?” Trent checked. “That's cool.”

“I guess,” Daria allowed with a shrug, while also nodding to confirm he had her age right. “It means that the driving lessons are part of my imminent and inescapable future. Just what I need, to be confined with one of my parents while at the same time learning to deal with the stresses of driving. I managed to avoid having to put up with that last year, Jake and Helen were both _still_ adjusting to the new work-loads after the move, but I sure as hell won't get out of it _this_ year.”

Trent gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “I'll teach you if you like,” he offered. “You won't have to worry about crashing the Plymouth. The engine gives out if you go fast enough that hitting anything would cause it damage, and I know some roads that practically _never_ get used.”

Daria smiled a little, and felt her cheeks get a bit warmer as she looked down at Trent's bejewelled hand (even dressed up he kept his many rings, piercings, and his necklace) wrapped around her own. “Thanks,” she said softly. “You don't have to.”

“Consider it my birthday present for the last couple of years,” Trent suggested, clearly not intending to back off on the matter.

“Thank you Trent,” Daria answered. “Really.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Alright ladies, since it's 'focus on agility' month, I want the rest of you to focus on your cartwheels, splits, and aerials,” the school's female coach, the self-righteous, very gung-ho and _competitive_ Ms Morris, snapped at the class.

“Ms Morris, I can't _do_ a cartwheel or split, and I don't even know what an aerial _is_ ,” Daria stated plainly. “But I _do_ know that 'agility' is supposed to be about speed, so if you don't mind, I'll just run up and down the bleachers as fast as I can.”

Ms Morris' face pinched with displeasure, but she spat out a 'fine'.

“I'm with Daria,” Jane quipped as she moved to follow her friend's example. “I don't bend that way,” she added with a gesture to Brittany, who was demonstrating a _perfect_ split on the mat.

Morris narrowed her eyes at Jane – she'd taught _previous_ Lanes and had a _very_ low opinion of those that had come before – but at least she was doing _something_ rather than just sitting on the bleachers refusing to participate _at all_.

“Hey Daria,” Jane said as they climbed the stairs. She kept her pace even with Daria's, and Daria was keeping _her_ pace even, measured, and not going at a speed that would make it too difficult for her to keep up with conversation.

“Yeah?”

“Trent told me that we missed your birthday,” Jane said shortly. “Twice.”

“And?” Daria asked.

“Dammit Daria!” Jane hissed. “Why _didn't_ you say anything?” Jane demanded softly. No good would come of drawing Ms Morris' attention. She'd taught Penny Lane _the American competitive spirit_ so well that Penny hadn't set foot in the country since Jane had started at kindergarten.

“I haven't celebrated my birthday since _Quinn_ blew out the candles on my cake when I turned three,” Daria answered. “I got cash and gift vouchers from my family, since they all know they'd get me the wrong thing.”

“Yeah?” Jane asked. “How much? If it's not prying to ask.”

“Fifty from Quinn to spend at the book store, a hundred from Mom to spend on recording equipment, and a hundred in cash from Dad,” Daria answered.

“And I made you a dress for a fair that you're never going to wear again,” Jane groaned.

“You also gave me my own room in your house,” Daria countered as they reached the top of the bleachers and turned around to head back down.

“I'm also buying your pizza for the rest of the month when we go to Pizza King,” Jane swore to her, resolute. “And I won't miss it _next_ year,” she promised solemnly.


	19. Chapter 19

_Football is a game designed to keep coalminers off the streets._ \- Jimmy Breslin

~lalaLAlala~

“Trent?” Daria asked, surprised to find the old Plymouth and its owner out the front of the school building when class let out.

“Hey Daria,” Trent greeted with a smile. Then he frowned. “Where's Janey?” he asked.

“She decided the guy recruiting for the Track Team was cute, and since she likes running, she's trying out,” Daria explained. “Going to show up Ms Morris and her opinion of the Lanes, I think was another motivation.”

Trent nodded slowly as he processed that. “Right,” he said. “Well, that opens up your schedule a bit, right?” he asked.

“ _Quite_ a bit,” Daria admitted, though she refused to admit to the hurt the first admission caused her.

“Cool,” he said, deliberately not acknowledging the hurt Daria wanted to ignore, and slid across the bench-seat out from behind the steering wheel and over to the passenger side. “Time for your first driving lesson then.”

Daria's eyes went wide with shock. She swallowed nervously. “Okay,” she finally agreed, and swung her backpack onto the back seat of the car before sliding into the spot Trent had just vacated.

“Okay,” Trent said with a smile. “First of all, relax. The only part of this car that bites is how quickly it overheats and dies.”

Daria smiled a little at the poor joke. She'd needed that.

“This here is the gear stick,” he started, and pulled one of Daria's hands off the wheel to the knob-ended rod that stuck out the right side of the steering wheel. “Most _modern_ cars have the gear stick more central,” Trent added. “But a central gear stick and a bench-seat in the front don't go together.”

Daria nodded in comprehension.

“That one on the other side of the wheel, yeah, that one,” Trent agreed with a nod when Daria touched a different length of metal extending from the wheel. “That does the headlights and the indicators.”

“Gotcha.”

“The pedals are the accelerator, the break, and the clutch...”

The lesson continued, and Daria learned how to shift through the gears academically before Trent suggested she actually try doing it for real. For extra comfort, Trent pointed out that he could reach the emergency break from where he was sitting if it was really necessary.

Carefully and tentatively, Daria eased away from the curb of the turning circle in front of the school. It was a smooth motion, not jerky, and when she had to change up from first to second, and then third, she still neither jerked, nor stalled.

By the time she and Trent had reached the front of the Morgendorffer house, Daria was pretty pleased with how she'd gone in her first driving lesson.

“Congratulations Daria,” Trent said with a smile. “You're a natural.”

Daria shook her head, a thoroughly pleased expression on her own face. “I had a really good teacher,” she countered.

Trent chuckled. “You still picked it up real fast,” he told her. “So, congratulations.”  
“Thanks.”

“I'll come pick you up any day Janey has Track after school, if you like,” Trent offered. “You can get some practice driving in, and then we can hang out and practice our music.”

“Trent, I'm grateful, really I am, but... what about the Spiral? Your job? And, uh, Monique?” she asked.

“The band generally only practices as a whole at nights and on weekends, apart from the gigs we get,” Trent explained. “Nick's got a _regular_ job to support his family after all,” he added, “and I generally do my service when Janey's at school anyway, so she doesn't know about it.”

Daria nodded. Of course. She had actually been peripherally aware of those details. She had just momentarily forgotten them.

“And Monique?” she probed, wary of the subject for reasons she couldn't even seem to admit to herself.

Trent scratched the back of his neck. “We break up all the time,” he said. “If she starts a fight about me teaching you to drive the next time we get together, then we won't be together long before we return to our current state.”

Daria genuinely didn't know what to say to that, so went with a good fall-back. “Thank you Trent.”

“No problem Daria,” he told her with a smile.

~lalaLAlala~

“You're home from school late, Daria,” Jake noted when she entered the kitchen to get a drink before heading upstairs to get on with her homework.

“What are you talking about?” Daria countered blandly. “This hour in no way constitutes 'late'.”

“Normally you're home much earlier,” Jake corrected himself.

“Jane joined the track team,” Daria said. “I spent some time figuring out what I was going to do with myself now that she's going to be at practice every day.”

“Oh...” Jake swallowed nervously. Daria hadn't had _any_ friends before the family had come to Lawndale, not really, and Jane was pretty important to Daria. Important enough that Daria already seemed to have completely forgotten how to cope with _not_ having someone to hang out with. That was... a concern for Jake. Not that he wanted her to be alone, because he _didn't_ , but a Daria that couldn't _cope_ with solitude any more? That was just a little bit of a worry.

“Uh... did you figure something out?” Jake asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Daria answered. “But expect me to be back this sort of time or later for a while.”

Jake blinked as he took that in. “Did _you_ join a team?” he guessed.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

~lalaLAlala~

As expected, Jane made the team, and while she went to practice and trained herself hard, Daria hung out with Trent and got slowly more comfortable behind the wheel of his car. Being _able_ to drive and being _comfortable_ driving were two different things after all – and she had to keep her head on swivel, since the glasses kind of killed her peripheral vision. Sometimes they would just drive around until the old Plymouth overheated, and sometimes they had a destination in mind – a destination that was usually _not_ Casa Lane, surprisingly enough. Actually, they mostly headed up to the hill where the teens went on their dates to make out. The place was pretty much deserted while it was still daylight out.

If they got to the hill, then they'd pull out notebooks and instruments. They'd jam for a while, and trade creative ideas while working on (in Daria's case) poetry and (in Trent's case) lyrics. He was slowly amassing quite a good collection for his solo career, and even more slowly (though it was still happening) he was developing new, _good_ songs for the band to play at their gigs.

When the light started to go, and before dating couples started to show up, Trent would drive Daria back to her parent's house before continuing on to Casa Lane.

Daria was privately wondering when Jane would tell her about the first Track Meet. Trent knew about it three days in advance, but Jane hadn't told _her_ yet, and didn't know that Trent had passed that piece of information on.

The day of, Jane approached Daria at her locker towards the end of the day. She was carrying a small sports duffle, had her hair mostly tied back in a short, messy little ponytail, and was wearing her Track uniform.

“Land that big sneaker endorsement yet?” Daria asked.

“Nah, they wouldn't meet my price,” Jane answered. “Today's our first Track Meet,” she continued on. “I wouldn't mind if you were there.”

“Oh,” Daria said, actually a little hurt. It wasn't an “I'd _like_ you to be there”, it was an “I wouldn't mind” – and there was a _difference_ between the two. It wasn't even an “if you want to come...”

“I wouldn't mind” was a concession to not being embarrassed by the presence of the other at a vaguely (and personally) important event.

Still, Jane was her best friend, even if she'd been somewhat absent of late, and this running thing was important to her. Also, Trent was going to be in attendance, so there would be no driving around talking about stuff before heading up to the hill to play music and talk about stuff.

His alternate explanation for being there was that his room was being 'power-scrubbed' again. Just occasionally he spent a bit of his hard-earned money on getting the house _properly_ cleaned. Jane's room was left alone on these occasions, and he moved the deed to the house from its hiding place behind his _Sisters of Mercy_ poster and into the lockable glove-compartment of his car. It was safe enough there – no one ever even attempted to steal the old Plymouth after all.

“Well?” Jane probed.

Daria realised she'd been thinking about the whole situation for a bit too long if Jane was pressing her for an answer. “I'll be there,” she replied.

Jane smiled. “Cool,” she declared, and then turned and headed out. Without even so much as a 'see ya there'.

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Daria,” Trent greeted as he walked along the bleachers by the track to where she was sitting.

“Hey Trent,” Daria returned, and shifted over ever-so-slightly where she sat, an indication that he was welcome to sit with her. Not that the bleachers were overly crowded or anything.

“So?” he asked when he sat down.

“She told me about the meet, and that she wouldn't mind if I was here, less than an hour ago,” Daria answered.

Trent winced a little and lay an apologetic, comforting hand on her shoulder.

A few seconds later, Jane won her race and set a new record for Lawndale.

“Pizza to celebrate?” Trent suggested.

“No good,” Daria answered. “Before Jane joined the team, she said _she_ was going to pay for my pizza for the rest of the month, to make up for not knowing about my birthday in time to celebrate it properly. I'm not going to make Jane pay for _my_ meal when we're celebrating _her_ victory.”

“Huh... burger then,” Trent decided with a nod.

“That should work,” Daria agreed.

~lalaLAlala~

“Um... we just passed Pizza King,” Jane pointed out as Trent drove.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “We're going to Cluster Burger to celebrate.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, why?”

“Because the girl who just broke a record shouldn't be paying,” Daria answered flatly.

“Oh,” Jane said, eyes going wide as she was reminded of that promise. She'd been so caught up in track that she hadn't spent any time with Daria the last couple of weeks. They'd barely even talked during school. “Sorry.”

“Regardless of how distant you've been since joining the team, I don't have so many friends that I can really afford to break off my first ever friendship over something as _trivial_ as being completely forgotten in favour of a sport,” Daria replied.

Jane winced at the slightly bitter tone even as the words all hit home. She... hadn't known that she was Daria's _first_ friend _ever_. The other girl was seventeen now. She hadn't even had someone she knocked over building blocks with when she was little?

Both Lanes realised with that little statement that Daria wasn't really experienced with social interaction of any kind, something that hadn't really been so clear up until then. It made her presence in their lives that much more extraordinary, and her trust that much more delicate and precious.

“However, if you use your position as a track star to avoid having to make any academic effort, then I _will_ have to disassociate myself with you,” Daria added firmly, not looking at her.

Jane winced again. She wasn't so good at math, and _had_ been thinking about getting out of tests for that subject, taking advantage of the perks of being a valued jock... But Daria had a point, and she didn't really want to come out of high school only knowing as much as Kevin.

“Gotcha.”

Jane quit the Track Team the next day. She decided she'd proven her point to Ms Morris, and her friendship with Daria was more important than that. Also, the cute guy on the track team, Evan, had proven himself to be a _true_ jock: he was also a jerk. Why was Mack the only guy in the school who could be part of a sports team and _still_ be a cool guy in general?

~lalaLAlala~

“So, your birthday is coming up. Any idea what you want to do for it?”

“How can you ask me that after the complete _mess_ I made last month?” Jane demanded softly.

“Simple,” Daria said. “you're still my best friend.”

“You quite sure Trent hasn't claimed that spot?” Jane asked sadly. She was still kicking herself about having not done anything for Daria's birthday _and_ then gone on to ignore her for several weeks in favour of proving something to Ms Morris.

“Surely you jest,” Daria returned with flat, dry sarcasm. “Persons of the opposite sex _cannot_ be best friends. Haven't you ever been forced to watch those horrible romantic comedies Hollywood churns out?”

“Fine,” Jane agreed as she gave an amused shake of her head. “But... no party.”

“We'll just go along to the Spiral gig, and then go out for pizza afterwards,” Daria agreed with a nod.


	20. Chapter 20

_The whole motivation for any performer: 'Look at me, Ma!'_ \- Lenny Bruce

~lalaLAlala~

The Morgendorffer family was sharing a pizza for dinner, and even though the pizza box was right there on the table, Helen still complimented Jake (“Great pizza, Dear,”) as though he'd made it from scratch before she moved on to the small pile of mail beside her plate.

“What's this? And who opened it?” she asked.

“Don't worry it's _not_ going to happen,” Quinn answered firmly as she picked the toppings off her pizza.

“A mother-daughter fashion show at your school? To raise money?” Helen read off.

“What a great idea,” Jake sprayed – talking with his mouth full and getting crumbs and cheese all over the table in front of him.

“The Fashion Club has already scheduled an emergency meeting,” Quinn said flatly and in all seriousness. “We'll put a stop to it.”

“Don't want a bunch of smelly amateurs stinking up your catwalks?” Daria asked wryly, a hint of a smirk on her face.

“Right, Daria!” Quinn agreed with a smile. “You can't just mix with fashion civilians when you have an image to uphold.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Helen declared. “I mean, who wants to parade around, showing off some ridiculous outfit?”

“With your mother?” Quinn added with a derisive, scoffing tone.

A tone that got her a sharp Look from Helen.

“Oops,” Quinn said softly.

Then the phone rang. Jake answered it, even though he was _still_ chewing. At least he wasn't required to have a full conversation, as it turned out to be for Quinn.

“Hello?” Quinn asked as she immediately set the phone to her ear, then... “You called me- oh, no, wait,” she said, and held the phone out for Daria. “Daddy, next time someone asks to talk to 'your daughter', remember that you've got two of them,” she advised. “I know it's usually for me, but sometimes Daria gets phone calls as well.”

“Hello?” Daria asked.

“ _Hey Daria,”_ Trent's voice came over the line.

“Hi Trent. What's up?”

“ _... Can't really say,”_ he said after a moment.

“Ah, let me guess then. Jane's birthday?”

“ _Yeah.”_

“And Jane's in the room so you can't really talk in case she catches on?”

“ _Right.”_

“Come over in half an hour, we can collaborate,” Daria suggested.

“ _Thanks,”_ Trent said with some relief in his voice. _“I'll do that.”_

“I'll save you some of the pizza we're having for dinner,” Daria promised.

“ _Excellent,”_ Trent agreed, and she could _hear_ the grin in his voice. Trent was never one to turn down a free slice.

Daria hung up the phone and passed it over to Helen. “I'm having a guest in half an hour, as I'm sure you figured out from that conversation, and we're going to be discussing birthday celebration plans for Jane. Now, the last time you met Trent, you were all too preoccupied with the camping trip to lay out the inquisition, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't make an attempt now. You never grill any of the boys Quinn dates, and Trent is just a friend.”

“Guys and girls can't be 'just friends' Daria,” Quinn said plainly.

“Alright,” Daria allowed. “In that case, my relationship with Trent is purely professional. He's got a band, and sometimes we work together to produce songs for that band. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Ick,” Quinn decided.

~lalaLAlala~

“Quinn! Your date is here!” Jake called when he answered the door.

“Wrong daughter, Daddy,” Quinn said flatly when she saw Trent at the door. “Hi, Jane's Brother.”

“Hi, Daria's Sister,” he answered with a vague smirk.

“She's up in her room,” Quinn offered. “C'mon, I'll show you.”

“Thanks.”

Quinn led Trent up the stairs and to the end of the hall to Daria's door, upon which she knocked and then left Trent alone once Daria opened it.

“C'min,” Daria said softly, and stepped aside.

“Thanks. Hey, cool room,” Trent said as he looked around. He had been inside the Morgendorffer house before, getting the tripped-out family members inside after the camping trip, but he hadn't seen Daria's room before.

“Thanks. The padded walls mean it's sound-proof enough to work as a small recording studio as well, provided I keep the door shut,” Daria explained. “So what's up? I know Jane doesn't want a party, so you're not here to ask me to keep her out of the house while you set that up.”

Trent shook his head in agreement. “Janey bought herself a new CD Walkmann after she quit the Track Team,” he explained. “There goes what I was going to get her for her birthday. I've already bought her art supplies every other year, and you said you were going to get her that this year. Kind of leaves me without any options.”

“Not getting her a CD? Or a book?” she suggested.

Trent shook his head. “I can never keep track of what CDs she's got of her favourite bands,” he admitted. “And I _can't_ set foot in a book store. Don't ask me why Daria, I just... _don't_ want to talk about it.”

Daria raised an eyebrow.

“I'm serious,” Trent insisted. “If I want something from a book store, I've got to send Janey or Jesse. Do you have any other ideas?” he asked.

“Let her have a light beer? Give her Jesse?” Daria suggested wryly. “She is interested in finding out what alcohol tastes like, and a single light beer is probably the safest start,” she explained.

Trent raised an eyebrow. “But... why Jesse?” he asked.

“Most of Jane's models for her art have been, up to this point, female,” Daria explained. “Though she's probably sketched you in your sleep a few times.”

Trent nodded. She'd actually given him one of those sketches for his birthday, a couple of months before they'd met Daria.

“Jesse is a guy who goes around without a shirt on, which would give Jane an opportunity to practice masculine musculature,” Daria stated plainly, resolving her explanation. At the same time, she knew that Jane would kill her for making the suggestion at all. She was working on getting over that crush on her brother's best friend after all, and being 'given' Jesse for her birthday would not help with that.

Trent gave that some thought. “It's got merit,” he agreed at length. “Not sure I can see Jesse going for it though.”

Daria shrugged.

Trent sighed. “Well, I'll mention it to 'im,” he decided. “I've got to get to practice soon anyway, so I'll see him there.”

“And if he doesn't go for it, I'm free to check out Dega Street with you tomorrow, unless I somehow get dragged into the mother-daughter fashion show,” Daria said.

Trent's eyebrows both shot up. “What?”

“The school is holding a mother-daughter fashion show to raise money,” Daria explained. “I may yet be dragged into participating. I should be able to avoid it though.”

Trent nodded, and for a while he sat silently and thought some more. “I think I know just what to give Janey,” he said after a few minutes.

“Yeah?” Daria asked.

“Yeah,” Trent said. “But it would be cool to check out Dega Street with you tomorrow, in case my idea doesn't work out. I'll pick you up... either some time in the afternoon, or I'll come straight from practice.”

Daria nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. She'd be able to get her present for Jane while they were out at the same time. “Sure.”

~lalaLAlala~

“That would be for you or me, rather than Jane,” Daria said with a smirk when they paused in front of a guitar store to take in the sight of a Fender Blacktop Telecaster. It was a thing of beauty, though the price tag was a thing of pain in the area of the pocketbook.

Trent had picked her up after practice in the morning, saving her from going to the spa with Helen and Quinn, and they'd stopped at the art supplies store before heading to Dega Street. Daria's gift for Jane was covered. Literally. They'd even gift-wrapped it for her at the store.

“Right,” Trent agreed, and they moved on to the next window display.

“I just don't see Jane wearing tie-dye,” Daria admitted as they considered the clothes in the window of 'Funky Doodle'. None of the items in the window actually were tie-dyed, but the curtain behind the display that hid the interior of the store was yellow with bubbles and hippie-style flowers printed on it. It was almost certain that they'd have something tie-dyed in stock.

“You would look good in that one though,” Trent stated plainly as he pointed to one of the dresses on display. A slightly retro, but still quite nice number that had a short orange skirt, and alternating black and white squares over the short-sleeved top. It was a turtle-neck and had a belt as part of it to cinch the waist.

It was, in fact, a dress that Daria might possibly wear.

“Um... thanks,” she said as she felt her cheeks warm. “So... what did you decide on for Jane? Or do I get to be surprised as well?”

“Talked it over with the guys, and I'm going to write a song for Janey's birthday,” Trent answered, clearly satisfied with this plan. “I'd like to record it and put it on a CD for her, but the whole band has agreed to perform it as the opening to our first set at the gig we've got, night of Janey's birthday.”

“That's really cool Trent,” Daria said with a smile.

Trent smiled. “Thanks,” he answered, then coughed. “I, uh, also talked to Jesse about the idea of him modelling for Janey as an extra present. He's cool with it, as long as he doesn't have to wear a ribbon.”

Daria chuckled softly. Yes, because that would really make Jane's day. Jesse Morino wrapped up – tastefully – in a big red bow and nothing else as he sat on Jane's bed, prepared to be her model... Yes, Jane would really kill her for that.

“So we don't really need to be shopping then,” Daria pointed out.

Trent shrugged. “It's cool to hang out though, right?” he asked, then noticed another business across the street. “Hey!”

“Body piercing?” Daria asked.

“Wouldn't you like to get pierced?” Trent asked.

“When I've been someone's slave for seven years and decided that, yes, this is really what I want for myself and I have no desire to be freed from that bondage, _then_ I will pierce my ears,” Daria answered plainly, a smile on her face.

“Huh?” Trent queried, confused.

“In ancient times, slaves had to be offered freedom after seven years of continued service to the same owner. If they decided that they didn't want to be separated from their owner, then they would get their ears pierced to symbolise that,” Daria explained. “Like many other things that were once symbols with meaning, piercing has become a method by which various subcultures express their notions of beauty.”

Trent blinked as he took that in. “Where do you get this stuff, Daria?” he asked. “Because that didn't sound like you made it up.”

“I didn't,” Daria agreed with a shrug. “When a person has no friends for the first fifteen-or-so years of their life though, they tend to fill up the time with solitary pursuits. In my case, prior to learning the guitar, that was reading anything and everything I could get my hands on.”

“Huh, well... I'm glad you're taking time away from the books to hang out with a bum like me,” Trent said as he rested a grateful hand on Daria's shoulder.

“Trent, you're not a bum,” Daria corrected him firmly.

Trent smiled softly. “Thanks for that too.”

“It's the truth,” Daria stated with a shrug. “A bum is someone who sleeps in gutters and only makes enough money shifting boxes at warehouses so that he can afford to buy enough booze so that he doesn't care that he's sleeping in gutters.”

Trent fell silent and just stared at the window for Axel's Piercing Parlour for a while. “Axel could get into trouble for giving you a piercing without a parental 'okay' before you turned eighteen anyway,” he said after a while.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria helped Trent write the lyrics for the song, improving the rhythm mostly. He was really getting better at the whole thing. A little time off to focus on just the music for one piece, and their music-and-words jamming sessions had really helped him out.

They recorded a version of the song in Daria's room, just the two of them. Trent on his guitar and Daria on hers, with Trent doing all the singing, and out popped a plain gold disc that had Jane's birthday song on it.

Daria passed over the permanent marker and Trent scrawled 'Happy Birthday Janey' around it, spiralling it in when the words didn't _all_ fit around the outside edge.

After that, it was off to Casa Lane to collect the birthday girl. Daria gave over the art supplies before they left the house for the Spiral gig at the Zon.

“Hello, we're the Spiral,” Trent said once they'd finished their sound check. “And I want to say happy birthday to my little sister Janey.”

“This is for you, Jane,” Jesse added.

Max started the beat with a light tapping of his cymbals before he, and the other members of the band, struck down on their instruments with a force.

“She's living life in the fast lane/ dragging me with her like a force of nature/ what can I give her that she doesn't have/ what can I give her that hasn't been killed/ killed by corruption and greed/ she's so precious to me/” Trent sang.

“Does anybody know/ does anybody know why we're here/” Jesse joined in. “Does anybody know/ does anybody know why we're here/”

There was an instrumental bit next, with each member of the band getting a short solo to show off in. Trent stepped up to the microphone again when Nick, who'd gone last, finished his solo.

“She's living life off the main stream/ nothing that's normal is good enough for long/ what can I give her that isn't plastic/ what can I give her that hasn't been stripped of its soul/ she's so precious to me/”

“Does anybody know/ does anybody know why we're here/” the rest of the band screamed out. It seemed this part _was_ the chorus after all. “Does anybody know/ does anybody know why we're here/ Does anybody know/ Does Any. Body. Know. Why. We're here?”

“That... wasn't bad,” Jane said with a truly pleased smile as she applauded with the rest of the crowd. “You helped, didn't you?” she asked Daria.

“I may have helped Trent edit the lyrics a bit,” she allowed. “But he didn't really _need_ much help.”

When the set was over, Trent joined them and passed over the CD with the alternate version of the song. “Happy birthday Janey,” he said with a smile.

She smiled back. “Thanks Trent,” she said gratefully.

“You got one more present,” Trent told her, and his smile turned into a smirk as he waved Jesse over.

Jane's eyes went wide.

“Hey,” Jesse greeted. “Happy birthday Jane.”

“Thanks Jesse,” she answered.

“Jesse's agreed to model for you,” Trent said with a grin.

“For a month,” Jesse added with a nod and an easy smile as he wrapped one of his big arms around Jane's slim shoulders. “Give Daria a break from being poked into poses.”

Daria smiled at her best friend, even as Jane whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes accusingly. Clearly, she'd figured out that this part of her birthday present from the band had been her idea.

All the same, Jane was not about to object. She'd just... classify it under 'suffering for her art'.


	21. Chapter 21

_No-one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if ever there was one._ \- E. M. Cioran

~lalaLAlala~

Daria looked at the book list that had been handed out to every student in the class. They were supposed to pick one of the texts, analyse it, and submit a report on its moral intention. There was not _one_ book on that list she hadn't read before, and while she could have spoken up... she decided to just pick one to re-read. If she told O'Neill she'd read all of those books, there were two likely results. Option one: she'd get to pick a different book that _wasn't_ on the list. Option two: she'd be given a _special assignment_. Either way, it would draw attention to her, and she'd just as soon avoid that from the man.

In fact, she'd as soon never be in the same room with him at all, but he was one of her teachers, so it was unavoidable to a certain extent.

It had been a while since she'd read Scott's _Ivanhoe_ , and it had all sorts of complex moral undertones – and, for that matter, overtones – so she'd go with that.

~lalaLAlala~

“Daria,” Helen called softly as she knocked on her eldest daughter's door.

“Come in.”

“I was wondering... well, you've been old enough to for a little while now, and you haven't asked your father or me for driving lessons,” Helen said as she moved to sit next to Daria on her bed. “You _do_ intend to go for your licence, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Daria answered. “You'll find the bill for the test in the next statement on Dad's Green Card. I'm getting tested on Friday.”

“What?!” Helen asked, surprised and confused. “But... Daria?”

“Trent taught me to drive while Jane was proving herself to Ms Morris on the Track Team,” Daria explained. “That's where I was all those afternoons.”

“But... why didn't you ask _us_ to teach you?” Helen queried.

“Because Trent was determined that, as an apology for not knowing to get me a birthday present for the last two years he's known me, he would teach me,” Daria replied matter-of-factly. “I know that most modern cars aren't arranged the same way as the seventy-three Plymouth Satellite, but I can work my way through gear-changes smoothly, I can parallel park and reverse park without damaging anything, and Trent even taught me some of the basic mechanics after the first time his car overheated from having been running too long.”

“That... that's wonderful Daria,” Helen admitted, “and a very thoughtful thing Trent did for you.”

“I know,” Daria agreed. “And I can't even pay him back, because it was done under the heading of 'birthday present'. Oh yeah, can I have money for contacts?” Daria requested.

Helen's eyes shot wide open. “You _want_ contacts?”

It was understandable that she'd seek clarification. She'd tried before to get Daria to try contacts, but she'd resisted fiercely. The glasses were part of Daria's identity.

“No,” Daria admitted. “But I kind of need them for driving. Much as I like my glasses, I don't see far out to the side too well. The frames kind of block the view. Contacts, much as I dislike the idea of putting anything directly onto my eyeballs, would rectify this.”

“Oh, Daria!” Helen exclaimed happily.

“They will _only_ been worn while driving,” Daria informed her mother sternly.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Helen agreed. “I'll make an appointment with the optician right away. We can make sure your current prescription is up to date at the same time.”

“Thank you.”

~lalaLAlala~

“I know it's not why you got the contacts,” Trent said when Daria climbed into his car and took off her glasses. “But Daria? You look good without the glasses. I mean, you looked good _with_ the glasses, but, you know...”

Daria blushed and adjusted the rear-view mirror so she could actually put said contacts _in_. An act that was somewhat painful, but the optician had promised that, as long as she was doing it right, it was something she'd get used to within the week. Since she also would only be wearing her contacts for short periods of time (well, unless she was designated driver for a road-trip across the country), she wouldn't have to worry about the lenses being in for so long that they became irritating.

“The glasses are still _me_ though,” Daria countered with a small smile.

“Yeah, I know,” Trent agreed. “You wear your glasses like I wear my rings and piercings. They're an intrinsic part of your identity, and screw the world if they don't like it, right?”  
“Right.”

“Doesn't change that by removing the glasses it's easier to see just how pretty your face really is,” Trent complimented with a smile.

Daria blushed a little brighter, and her smile grew just a tiny bit. “Thanks,” she said softly, and returned the rear-view mirror to its proper angle.

“Well, pedal to the metal, you've got a driving test to pass,” Trent declared.

Daria shook her head. “Jane had to get something from her locker,” she said.

“Oh, right,” Trent agreed with a wince. “I can't believe I forgot about Janey.”

“I won't tell,” Daria promised with a slight smile.

“Thanks for waiting for me!” Jane called as she hurried up to the old Plymouth. “I managed to get a genuine horse skull, cleaned and bleached, from Andrea for only five bucks!”

“What are you going to do with a horse skull?” Trent asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Esoteric sculpture,” Jane answered simply. “Maybe something to base the next Spiral CD cover on, perhaps?” she suggested. “Depending on what songs go onto the album of course.”

Trent smiled. “Cool,” he said.

“Okay, I'm taking you both to Casa Lane, then borrowing the car for my driver's test,” Daria summarised. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“No problem.”

“I still can't believe you're getting your licence _already_ ,” Jane chirped happily. “When did you get in all the driving practice?”

“When _you_ were getting in all that _running_ practice,” Daria answered.

Jane winced at the reminder, and turned to Trent. “Thanks for being there bro,” she said softly.

Trent nodded. “Daria's cool,” he said. “It was fun hanging out.”

Jane smiled slightly, gratified that her absence had been suitably taken advantage of by those nearest and dearest to her. Jesse came third. It was a close third, but third all the same. That month of getting to sketch him in various poses and states of 'shirtless' had been both very productive and very trying. Jesse was a great model, he was, Jane just had to remind herself that if she stared overly-long at some part of him, she had to make sure that the corresponding area of her sketch was detailed enough to _warrant_ that amount of staring.

When Daria returned to Casa Lane, it was with her driver's licence, and there was a cake waiting for her to celebrate the occasion. Upon presentation of the little piece of plastic to her parents at the dinner table, Jake and Helen directed conversation what sort of car Daria might want to get. Of course, her wants and wishes were going to be limited by budget and availability. For example, there was no way she was going to be getting a brand new Porsche or Rolls Royce. There was neither the money for such a purchase, nor a local dealership.

~lalaLAlala~

“And so, the _democratic_ party came to be associated with the, quote-unquote, _welfare state_ , and the _republican_ party with a more _Darwinian_ approach,” Mr DeMartino said. Teaching high school students history (including political history) was clearly a waste of his history/sociology double major and doctorate. The man was much too passionate to teach the intellectually backward and the truly apathetic.

“Which do _you_ favour?” he demanded of the class, and scanned his eye across the room.

Daria liked Mr DeMartino as a teacher. His notes on the board made sense, he knew his stuff, and while he had some issues (barely restrained temper, and apparently a glutton for punishment as he continued to call on Kevin to give answers), he really was one of the best teachers in the school.

As such, before the man could call on Kevin in the vain hope that, this time, he might have some idea of what was actually being discussed in class, she raised her hand.

“Daria,” DeMartino called, a small amount of the tension draining from his shoulders, and his eye mercifully not straining in its socket.

“While I do appreciate certain benefits that come with living in a country that offers welfare, I also believe that if the people who were too stupid to keep themselves employed died off due to lack of government support, then we would have a stronger nation today,” she offered.

“ _Thank_ you Daria,” Mr DeMartino said, and might have continued, but he caught Kevin asking Brittany a question.

“Darwin's the monkey guy, right?”

“I don't think so,” Brittany answered softly with a shrug. She hadn't been dating Kevin for a while now, and generally spoke to him in a calm, semi-detached manner when she had to speak to him at all.

“Thank _you_ Brittany,” DeMartino said, rounding on the pair of them. “No, _Kevin_ , Darwin is _not_ 'the _monkey guy_ '!”

“Good morning students!” Ms Li called as she entered the room.

“Ah, Ms Li,” DeMartino started. “I wonder if I might -”

“Forget it,” she said quickly, cutting the man off. “I've already told you, no staff resignations while class is in session.”

DeMartino grumbled and ground his teeth, and Ms Li turned to the class.

“Students! Aren't we a bunch of _lucky_ so-and-so's,” she said, with a pointed glance at Mr DeMartino. “With all that this great land has given us, should we think about giving back? _Just a little_?” she asked them. “So, as part of the school district's first annual 'awareness of others' week, I am _asking_ each Lawndale High student to sign up for an extra curricular activity,” and it was clearly actually an order, not a request. “To make the world a better place,” she finished pleasantly.

Only, she wasn't finished.

“One-hundred percent participation will earn m- _us_ ,” she caught herself quickly. They were clearly not the first class she'd stepped in to give this speech to. “- special recognition from the superintendent of schools. Now, I want all of you to go out there and make _the school_ look good! Resume learning!” she called, and then walked out the door. No doubt off to give the same speech to the next classroom full of impressionable minds.

“Class,” DeMartino said. “Dare I ask if anyone can relate this appeal for _volunteer-ism_ to the _political philosophies_ we've been discussing today? Brittany?” he asked, not hoping for much, but she'd been doing better in his class since she'd stopped dating Kevin, so he hoped for at least a little bit.

“Um...” Brittany frowned as she tried to figure it out. “It's... helping other people for _their_ sakes, rather than your own?” she guessed. “That's, um, the... welfare?”

DeMartino looked ready to believe that there really _was_ a God, and that He _did_ watch over and care about him. “Yes, Brittany,” he said. “Well done.”

“Because, welfare is putting together the words 'well' and 'fare', and being fair is everybody getting the same chances, and being well is another way of saying that you're not sick!” Brittany chirped.

It seemed DeMartino suddenly became less certain about there being a caring, divine presence, but... “If... if that is how you will be able to remember it,” he grit out. “It is not, I suppose _wholly_ inaccurate, and will do for now.”

Brittany smiled brightly.

~lalaLAlala~

“I really do think people should volunteer for causes because they believe in them,” Daria said as she and Jane headed for the sign-up sheets. “Not because it will make the school look good.”

“And yet, we are going straight to the boards, rather than procrastinating the action,” Jane noted.

“Yes,” Daria agreed. “Because if we get there before the lists are full, we may actually be able to sign up for something we believe in at the same time as being forced to make the school look good.”

“That makes sense,” Jane allowed. “Hey! An arts and crafts class at the children's ward at the hospital,” she said, and pointed to the appropriate sheet.

“Calling Jane Lane,” Daria remarked with a smirk.

“Care to go with?” Jane offered as she started looking for a pen. “There's plenty of spots, since we got here early.”

Daria took a moment to scan the other options available, and smirked. “There is a total of one position going, playing soothing music in the halls of the mental ward,” she declared. “The only people I'd have to interact with are the staff, and they'll just tell me where to sit down, and when I can go.”

Jane smirked back. “That is right up your ally,” she agreed, and passed over her pen once she'd put her name down for arts and crafts with hospitalised kiddies.

~lalaLAlala~

Jane really got into the arts and crafts with the kids, and Daria quickly became _very_ popular with the nursing staff of the mental ward. Apparently, the mental patients all became much more manageable while she played in the hallways. So much more manageable, in fact, that the staff were reluctant to let her go.

One even went so far as to beg for a recording of the ten minute long lullaby Daria had composed, to play when they were trying to get the patients to settle down in the evenings.

“If you provide a blank CD when I come tomorrow, then I'll have that piece of music on it for you when I come back for day three,” Daria answered sympathetically.

Really, these were the nurses that had it the toughest. They had to deal with cleaning up after a grown woman who had emptied her bowels in her bedclothes, and if it was a good day, then that was the worst they had to deal with.

When she left the psyche ward, Daria headed up to the paediatrics ward to see how Jane was going – day one, and they'd already turned the balloon-holding clowns on the walls into mace-wielding Mongol invaders, after having made voodoo dolls of the various staff.


	22. Chapter 22

_It is very good advice to believe only what an artist does, rather than what he says about his work._ \- David Hockney

~lalaLAlala~

Jake came back from the dealership with Daria's 'new' car the Sunday following the volunteer gig at the hospital was officially termed 'over'. It was a Mini, and looked like a rusty old death-trap, but he'd got it for only five dollars, the frame was solid, and as soon as he put in some new oil and changed the fan-belt, the engine started purring like it was fresh from the factory. The gearbox, steering wheel, and various other controls also all functioned as well, though there _were_ no wipers – for that matter, there were barely any seats, and what remained didn't look particularly comfortable.

“And they're always making more Minis,” Jake told Daria happily. “So getting new parts, or even a new body, won't be hard at all! We can _customise_ it!”

That... while completely inaccurate, was actually a pretty cool idea. Occasionally, just occasionally, her parents really did come through with a winner. The twelve-string was one, this tiny little car was another. Despite its deceptive size, it would (when they replaced the seats) _still_ fit her and three other people, four if they were skinny and didn't have personal space issues – and that was without taking advantage of the holes that had rusted through the body in some places. The boot would be able fit stuff without much trouble, and once they replaced the body, there would be the option of a roof-rack as well.

“Can we get the new body in white?” Daria requested. “I'd like Jane to have the chance to use a car as her canvas.”

Jake beamed. “Sure we can, Kiddo!”

How Jake managed to get a brand new body for the car within the week and for only a hundred bucks, Daria didn't know. She would be going through his files the next time she'd have the house to herself though. She wanted to know. That would be a very useful skill/contact to have.

Jane was pretty enthusiastic about the idea as well, and had bought vehicle-appropriate air-brushing tools and paint for the job.

“This,” she declared, “will be awesome.”

“As payment, I'll see if Dad can't find a five-dollar Mini for you to fix up for yourself,” Daria offered with a smile. Jane was booked to go for her licence in a couple more weeks.

“Make it a Beetle,” Jane requested with a smirk. “I know they're more time-machine than car, but they have a reputation of being able to go forever, which is more than can be said for Trent's car, or The Tank.”

“Done,” Daria agreed, and conveyed the deal to her dad. Jake was happy to help, and in fact, so was his old pal Coyote Yaeger.

It seemed that the Yaegers had done so well with their business since Jake had helped Coyote make a proper business plan, that they were able to afford a van again, but wanted to sell the bug before purchasing a new (though still second hand) vehicle. This car was in much better condition than the Mini had been though, and they were pals, so the bug was a bit more than just five. Still, Jane paid half of the price back in cash from her meagre savings, and the rest by doing an impressive merging of Jackson Pollock and Van Gough all over Daria's car – except for the windows and interior, that is. It looked... like an 'atomic art' version of 'Starry Night'. Considering she'd air-brushed it like the professional auto-artists, that was really impressive. 'Splatter' wasn't something that generally worked with air-brushing.

“Very cool,” Daria told her friend when she saw the finished product.

“Thanks,” Jane said. “I even built an interior for you. It's only simple, but with a Mini that's all you can really fit.”

“It's comfy though,” Trent added. He'd come to see the great unveiling of Daria's car. “Janey had me test the seats.”

“Quality control,” Jane explained.

Daria smiled. “I don't know how I got lucky enough to have you two as friends,” she said.

“You hung out with me in the self-esteem class when you moved here,” Jane answered with a smile of her own. “And you got me a car of my own too.”

“And you're helping me improve the Spiral's music,” Trent added. “And my own personal stuff. You're cool, Daria. We like having you around.”

Daria blushed, but accepted this as just the way things were, and was grateful.

“Besides, the itty-bitty canvases at school just aren't doing it for me,” Jane added. “I long for a medium grand enough to do justice to my inner torment. The car was a good outlet. I still want something bigger -”

“It is only a Mini,” Daria agreed.

Jane smirked at the aside. “But it was enough for now.”

~lalaLAlala~

“I just dropped by to caution you that the school dance is in two weeks,” Ms Li informed the art class. “And security is going to be _especially_ tight, so, if anyone is thinking of rigging a bucket of pig's blood to the rafters,” she said, and chuckled in satisfaction. “Well, they can just forget it!” she informed them, and moved on to continue sharing that message with other classes.

“There goes my weekend,” Daria quipped to Jane.

She smirked in answer.

“But hey, would the gym be a grand enough medium for your inner torment?” Daria suggested.

Jane's eyes lit up at the potential.

“Daria, you're a genius,” Jane breathed as visions of turning the entire gym into an artistic expression danced before her mind's eye.

“Noted.”

“I hate to say it, but I've got to talk to O'Neill,” Jane said with a pointed smile.

Ever the supportive friend, Daria waited outside the door while Jane spoke to the man.

“What's the budget?” Daria asked when Jane came out of that little meeting.

“A thousand dollars,” Jane said, pleased. “I'll only need twenty for a couple of bags of chips and a boom-box.”

“Take out the boom-box and add a couple of strobe lights,” Daria recommended. “See who goes into an epileptic fit.”  
“Nice, but it's a dance, we'll need music, and I'm not going to ask you or the Spiral to play a gig for free,” Jane said.

“You won't have to,” she said, and pointed across the hall to Upchuck.

“You're right,” Jane agreed. “I'll bet he does have everything he needs to be a DJ lying around his house, and it will keep him off the dance floor and out of circulation.”

“The only downside is that to get him to be the DJ, you'll have to speak to him,” Daria quipped.

“Negligible when compared to the opportunity to spend just shy of a thousand dollars on paint and have free reign over the gym interior,” Jane decided, and braced herself to speak with Upchuck.

She came away successful, but in want of a shower.

Over the next few days, Daria made it her mission to keep Jane fed and caffeinated as she worked on her major piece, and even went so far as to not only brave a school dance for the sake of her friend and the art, but to drag Trent and Jesse along as well.

“Tribute to the untimely death of Jackson Pollock,” Jesse read off the banner. “Cool.”

“It is awesome Janey,” Trent agreed. “You have taken pictures for your portfolio, right?”

“Portfolio?” Jane questioned.

“I did,” Daria stated. “Got a few of Jane while she was working on it too. I'll take another once everyone clears out. I figure the mess they leave behind will add another layer of depth to the piece.”

“Daria!” Jane exclaimed. She seemed kind of stuck on repeat, struck as she was by the actions of her friend.

“Lane, you're good enough that you'll be able to get into a good college on an art scholarship,” Daria informed her plainly. “I'm going to make sure that your big works get appropriately recorded for posterity and eventual publication.”

Jane smiled, and it could have just been because of the lights, but it looked like she was on the verge of tears as well. “Thanks, _Amiga_ ,” she said, touched.


	23. Chapter 23

_What is an adult? A child blown up by age._ \- Simone de Beauvior

~lalaLAlala~

“I wish to specify that Mr O'Neill is my English teacher, not my writing mentor, and he sent you my essay without my knowledge or permission,” Daria said when the man passed her the phone. “An act for which I may yet sue him.”

“Eep!” the man squeaked next to her.

On the other end of the phone line, Val laughed.

“ _What would you say to the idea of me coming down to Lawndale and spending a day with you, Daria?”_ Val asked.

“I think that my school's principle will do her best to promote Lawndale High as much as she possibly can if you do that on a school day,” Daria answered, “I suppose I can't stop you though.”

“ _Hmm, I genuinely want this to be a quiet 'day in the life of you' though, without all the extra attention,”_ Val said. _“What about if I came down Friday night and spent a Saturday with you instead?”_

Daria took a moment to think about that. She generally went over to Casa Lane on weekends, usually staying the night... It was the turn of the Lane basement to host band practice, and Jane's artistic expressions could always use some exposure.

“That sounds good,” she agreed with a smirk.

“ _Great! And you can show me all the places you like to hang out,”_ Val decided with enthusiasm. _“I'll be there bright and early on Saturday then, say, eight?”_

“Sure,” Daria agreed.

“ _Then I'll see you Saturday, Girlfriend!”_

Daria hung up the phone.

“Um, Daria?” O'Neill asked tentatively.

“Val will not be coming to the school,” Daria informed the man.

O'Neill looked like she'd kicked his puppy when she told him that.

“And I am seriously considering suing you for entering a piece of my work into a competition without my permission,” Daria added venomously.

O'Neill quailed and flinched back.

~lalaLAlala~

The doorbell rang promptly at eight on Saturday morning, and Daria, the only one in the house who knew about her visitor, since she'd managed to convince O'Neill not to tell anybody – including her family – was also the only person awake yet, and so had to be the one to answer the door.

“Hey Girlfriend!” greeted a blonde woman in a an outfit that looked like it belonged on someone closer to Quinn's age.

“Nice to meet you Val,” Daria greeted. “I'm Daria. Please come in. I was just finishing breakfast, but there's a pot of coffee if you'd like some,” she offered. “I'm afraid the rest of my family are still enjoying sleeping in.”

Val smiled. “That's okay,” Val said. “But I wouldn't say no to coffee.”

Daria escorted the woman to the kitchen, poured the woman a mug of strong black, and they sat on the stools by the bench.

“So, what sort of things have you got planned for today Daria? Hanging with friends?” Val guessed.

Daria nodded. “I'm far from the most popular person at school,” she stated plainly, “but the friends that I have hold me in high regard, and I likewise care very much about them. Quality over quantity,” she explained.

Val frowned. “Why aren't you popular Daria?” she asked. “Someone as edgy as you come across as being in your essay...”

Daria smirked. “Because while the other kids are playing sport or participating in clubs, I do my homework, that way I have more time free in the afternoons and evenings to do what I want to do.”

“And what sort of thing do you do?” Val asked, smiling again.

“Well, I generally get through a good-sized book every week, expanding my mind, but apart from that, I hang out with my friends,” Daria replied, and checked her watch. “Who should be awake by now,” she added, mentally adding 'if they actually slept last night at all'. “If you feel like meeting them?”

“Sure!” Val agreed.

Daria nodded. “Then let me just grab my keys, my bag, and a couple of things from my room...” Daria paused as she stood. “Actually, while normally I don't invite just anyone up to my room, would you like to see it, Val?” Daria offered.

“Would I!” Val agreed happily.

She stared, slack-jawed, when Daria opened her bedroom door.

“Wow,” she said softly.

While Val stared, Daria collected up her notebooks into her back-pack, which already had a lump in the bottom from the kitchen fridge, then grabbed her guitar-case, contacts and keys.

“How did you talk your parents into letting you decorate your room like this?” Val asked.

“Actually, the previous owners of the house kept a schizophrenic shut-in aunt in this room. I just convinced my parents to not _re_ decorate,” Daria said, and then showed Val back down to the garage.

Val went slack-jawed again when she saw Daria's car.

“That is _the_ most incredible paint-job I've ever seen on a car,” she said. “It's so... edgy!”

“My friend Jane did it for me,” Daria told her. “Dad found the car for really cheap, got a new body for it, and then Jane did the rest in exchange for a cheap Beetle for herself.”

“Wow,” Val approved as she slid into the passenger seat and looked around the interior. An interior that mixed wood panelling with deep blue-green pleather and trimmed with black beading.

“Jane's an artist, and the canvases she had at school weren't satisfying her, so getting a whole car for a canvas was something she could really sink her teeth into,” Daria said as she switched glasses for contacts.

“It's really amazing,” Val agreed. “And you hang out with the artsy crowd? You're totally jiggy with it!”

“Wait 'til you see what she did with her bug,” Daria advised with a smirk, and then backed the car out. “And... please don't say 'jiggy with it' again.”

Jane had done up her bug to look like it was something that had crawled out of her lipstick. It was red, of course, and there were shapes dancing in the red that were, to quote the artist herself, “heady, potent, _seductive_ ”. And making a vintage Beetle _seductive_ was damn hard. She'd still managed it though, which was really very impressive. Trent's car wouldn't be getting the same treatment until his next birthday rolled around.

~lalaLAlala~

“Daria?” Jane asked when she answered the door. “What are you doing ringing the bell, _Amiga_? We gave you a key to the back door _months_ ago.”

“I didn't think it would be polite to just let myself in when I wasn't alone,” Daria answered. “Jane, meet Val of _Val Magazine_ , from New York.”

“Hi!” Val greeted.

“Hi,” Jane answered as she blinked in confusion. “Daria? What's going on?”

“O'Neill entered one of my essays into a contest without my prior knowledge, and the winner of said contest gets to have the company of Val for a day,” Daria explained. “Val, this is my best friend Jane, the artist who did my car.”

Jane chuckled.

“That doesn't sound quite right,” a new voice said from behind Jane.

“Potential double meaning,” Jane said with a smile. “Hey Trent.”

“Hey,” he answered, and turned to the two people still standing at the front door. “Hey Daria, who's...”

“Trent, meet Val, of _Val Magazine_ , New York,” Daria presented.

Trent blinked at the woman, then turned to Daria. “You're already getting published?” he asked, and was clearly equal parts happy for her, and missing her company already – after all, why would someone who was getting _published_ stay in _Lawndale_? “Your stuff _is_ good,” he added, determined that he _would_ be happy for her.

“I'm not getting published Trent,” Daria said with a smile and a shake of her head. “I just won a competition O'Neill entered me in.”

“Oh,” Trent said, and his shoulders fell a little in relief – which could also be interpreted as being sorry that she wasn't getting the big break she deserved.

“Well, we've kept you on the doorstep way too long,” Jane declared. “The house got power-cleaned last month, so we don't have too much to be ashamed of yet. Come on in.”

“Welcome to the house of fun,” Daria told Val plainly.

“Uh, Daria,” Trent said, a hint of concern in his voice. “That song is about buying -”  
“I know,” Daria cut off, not willing to force Trent to say it. “But it was better than saying 'welcome to the house where the creative juices are always flowing'.”

“That _does_ sound worse,” he agreed after a moment.

Jane chuckled. “We do our best,” she said to Val, “but keeping things clean hasn't ever been something the Lanes were very good at.”

“Janey,” Trent said, a vague hint of reprimand in his tone. After all, that one had been blatant and _on purpose_.

She just cackled.

“So, I had this crazy dream last night that the roughly-teen-aged spirits of Christmas, Halloween, and Guy Fawkes Day were all in Lawndale looking for another guitarist for their band, which was going for a hip-hop, punk, electronica-vibe,” Daria said to Trent, “and the Saint Patrick's Day leprechaun and _Cupid_ showed up asking me to get them back to 'Holiday Island' because Presidents' Day was taking over the high school like alternate dimension, since Christmas and Halloween had previously been in charge.”

“Daria,” Trent said softly. “What did you have for dinner last night?”  
“I brought you some left-overs,” Daria answered with a smirk.

“Free food that also causes inspiration. Cool. Thanks Daria,” Trent said appreciatively.

“Did you bring enough for me too?” Jane asked. “And what's Guy Fawkes Day?”

“Guy Fawkes Day is an English holiday,” Daria answered. “Mostly an excuse to have a bonfire, set off fireworks, and set a well-dressed scarecrow ablaze. The original Guy Fawkes tried to blow up parliament. And yes, I brought enough for you as well.”

“Cool!” Jane declared enthusiastically.

“I'm going to stash it in your freezer so you can have it for dinner,” Daria stated. “You can then take full advantage of whatever weird dreams it will give you without having to have a nap in the middle of the day.”

“Can't anyway,” Trent said. “The band is coming over to practice.”

“You're in a band?” Val asked.

Trent nodded. “Yeah. The Spiral. We play alternative rock-grunge, with some heavy metal elements,” he explained.

“That isn't something that would be easy to market,” Val noted. “It's a long way from mainstream.”

“Jane and Daria got us our first big hit a couple of months ago,” Trent answered her, his voice still soft, but with a proud swelling behind it – and for the girls, not just for himself. “They filmed the creation of one of our songs, and then made a music video as well.”  
“We had to make a movie for a class project,” Jane supplied. “We got a good grade, and Trent and his band got some good publicity.”

“I think the only people in Lawndale who don't have a bought copy of the Spiral's first single in their house are the people who helped make it,” Trent agreed happily.

“There's one in my house,” Daria said with a smirk. “ _Quinn_ bought it.”

“Quinn?!” Jane exclaimed, shocked. “No, wait. Yeah, I can see that. She's got to know everything that's 'in', so even if she _doesn't_ like the sound Spiral produces, she's got to own a copy of the CD, or her popularity rating could drop.”

“She'll grow out of it,” Daria answered. “At least, I hope she will.”

“She's got a brain behind that mask of superficiality,” Jane reassured her friend, “and you do make sure she uses it.”

“Bribery and corruption wins the day again,” Daria quipped with a wry smirk.

Trent chuckled. “Good one Daria.”

“I'm... confused...” Val admitted as she looked around the trio of friends.

“We're not mainstream,” Jane stated plainly. “We're cynical, disillusioned, sarcastic, and happy that way. You don't have to be perky all the time after all.”

“For preference, we'll be perky none of the time,” Daria chimed. “Leave that to Brittany.”

“Who?” Val asked.

“Head cheerleader, nice girl, and actually a good friend,” Jane supplied. “I'm sure you'll meet her when we go out for pizza for lunch.”

Then the rest of the Spiral arrived, and it was time for band practice.

~lalaLAlala~

“Thanks Daria,” Val said when her driver came to pick her up at the end of the day. “It's been... real.”

Daria smirked. “We're very good at that,” she answered.

Val had been introduced to counter-culture, Jodie, Brittany, and the dangers of mainstream effects on the mind of the modern teen. 'Edgy' had been re-defined for the woman. The woman who tried so desperately to stay a teen had done some growing up.

She had _also_ bought – actually bought – a copy of the Spiral's single _The Tank_ , and promised to play it, at full blast, her next day back in the office. She wanted to take one of Jane's pieces back to New York with her as well, but the sculpture with the dress-maker's dummy and the saxophone was delicate and wouldn't travel well. To make up for it, Val insisted on a photo with Daria, all her friends (which included the band), and the two cars Jane had painted, right out front of the pizza parlour.

It was going to be the next front cover, and Val was going to try and do as many articles as she could from this one trip – and she'd also asked Jodie to send her something she could publish in her magazine. Something to 'enlighten' her readers, rather than just marketing to them.

“If you ever come to New York, look me up, okay Daria?” Val requested.

“Will it be okay if I bring a friend, should I make it up there?” Daria countered with a pointed glance at Casa Lane.

Val smiled. “I insist you do! And keep in touch, okay?”

“... Sure.”


	24. Chapter 24

_The most prolific period of pessimism comes at twenty-one, or thereabouts, when the first attempt is made to translate dreams into reality._ \- Heywood Broun

~lalaLAlala~

It seemed that the school insisted on forcing career aptitude tests on the entire student population on an annual basis. Even the kids that had jobs – or even only _kind of_ had jobs – had to fill out the forms. Daria, curious to see how the standardised test would place her, filled out the questionnaire honestly. Jane, on the other hand, answered 'C' to every question, regardless of what the correlating answer was. Just as she had done the previous two times.

“What did you get?” Jane asked Daria when they got their results back. She had, as per the previous tests, once more gotten 'accountant'.

“Small business owner,” Daria answered with satisfaction. “Without any specification as to what that small business might be.”

Jane arched an eyebrow. “You are planning something,” she detected. “Don't deny it. I can hear the gears in your head turning and ticking over.”

“I have several ideas,” Daria corrected. “Common among them all is getting a basic, generic business plan from Jake that can be applied to any small business, and a concise brief on business law from Helen.”

“Good plan,” Jane agreed. “So, publishing house or record label?”

“Art house,” Daria answered with a smirk.

“Daria!”

~lalaLAlala~

“That's certainly an ambitious goal, Sweetie,” Helen said when Daria surrendered her career aptitude test and voiced the _type_ of business she'd like to run. “Certainly not your average small business.”

“Mom, since when have I been average?” Daria countered. “I'll start in one area, and gradually add on more as I get used to running things.”

“What area did you think you'd start in Kiddo?” Jake asked as he joined them at the table.

“Well, I've already got the software, so I thought I'd follow Joan Jett's example and start up my own recording business. Alternatively, I could buy a warehouse, stock it with Jane's art, and advertise it as a gallery. After taking a small commission from sales, I'd be able to partition off a section of the warehouse to be completely sound proof, and I could turn that into a real recording studio. I'd probably look into starting up the publishing house, small scale, at the same time. That way, I'd be able to print the CD covers myself, rather than having to out-source too much, and it wouldn't be too much of a leap to start printing short stories and then novels, but there's less of a demand for a real, serious, publishing house in Lawndale, so it would be the last thing.”

“She really has thought this out,” Helen said softly to Jake, admiration and pride clear in her tone.

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Janey,” Trent greeted as he and Jesse walked into Jane's room. “Hey Daria.”  
“Hey,” Daria returned.

“Didn't you make some coffee last week?” Trent asked Jane hopefully.

“You look awful,” Jane noted. “What happened to you?”

“Jesse and I were up all night trying to write a new song,” Trent answered.

“How's that going?” Daria asked.

“Not so good,” Trent admitted. “I think Val might have sucked some of the creative-cool-vibes away when she left. The left-overs from your dad's cooking were pretty inspiring, but translating that crazy dream into a song is tough.”

“And I keep getting cramps trying to play A diminished,” Jesse added, and massaged his left hand – the one that held tight for the chords, rather than the hand that attacked the strings with his pick.

“Suffering for your music then,” Jane commiserated and got up from where she'd been sitting next to Daria on her bed – they'd been watching _Sick Sad World_ again. “I'll have you boys know I finished that pot of coffee yesterday, but I don't mind making you another. Come on Jesse, I'll find a bucket and fill it with muscle-soothing salts and hot water for your hand at the same time,” she offered.

“Thanks Jane,” Jesse said and followed her down to the kitchen.

Leaving Trent and Daria alone in Jane's room.

“A diminished is a bastard to play,” Daria said.

Trent shrugged. “It's still the one that sounds right,” he said.

“Can't argue with that,” Daria agreed. “On the subject of arguing though, has Monique crawled back with an apology for your latest yet?”

“Yesterday,” Trent answered with a nod. “But I decided it was time to break the cycle, stop reconciling and getting back together after every fight, and didn't take her back this time.”

Daria's brows, hidden by her glasses, shot up in surprise. More obviously, her eyes grew wider.

Trent nodded again when he saw her expression, and sat down next to her.

“She's been _talking_ about leaving the Harpies and starting her own band for ages, but she doesn't follow through with that, and she's been getting more and more controlling every time we get back together...” Trent admitted. “It's... it's never been what you'd call a healthy relationship.”

“Honestly Trent? I'm not sure that there's really any such thing as a 'healthy relationship',” Daria offered, a little sadly. She wasn't good at comforting people, but Trent was someone she cared about, and the on-again off-again relationship with Monique was something that had been part of his life for a long time.

Not having it there any more would take a bit of adjusting to, even if leaving it behind had been his choice.

“There's gotta be,” Trent insisted as he rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his hands. “I may not know what it's like to have one, but I just know it's gotta exist.”

Daria sighed, recognising that arguing that point would not be helpful, or comforting, to Trent right now.

“Tell you what,” she started. “When you're no longer sleep-deprived, make a list of all the things you think a healthy relationship has, and a list of some of the signs of an _un_ healthy relationship. Then, when you're adjusted to not having Monique being your fall-back girlfriend any more, we can go over the list together. Talk about it,” Daria suggested. “We might be able to make a song out of it even.”

Trent smiled up at her, still hunched over himself. “Thanks Daria,” he said gratefully as he reached out to wrap one of his hands around one of hers. “You always know what to say.”

Daria blushed a little. “You're welcome,” she mumbled back. “Um... if it's not prying, what did my Dad's crazy curry make you dream?”

“Hurricane came to Lawndale and everyone was singing like the whole town was a Broadway musical,” Trent answered with a smirk. “Broadway and alt-rock grunge-metal don't exactly... blend well,” he added wryly.

Daria snickered at the imagery. “Any good numbers?” she asked.

“There was one about being manly that I sang with your dad, which was reprised rather impressively,” Trent said with a chuckle, “and you sang in it too, along with the classmates I've had the, uh, good fortune to meet when we went to Pizza King with Val.”

“That is a crazy dream,” Daria stated, amused at Trent's description. “... Was Val in it too?”

Trent shook his head. “No, but... You had a nice voice, in my dream,” he said, and sent her a curious look. “Makes me want to know if you sound that good in real life too. I think you would.”

Daria's blush returned, a little deeper than before, but she offered neither an answer, nor a demonstration.

“Anybody die?” Daria asked hopefully when she felt the silence had stretched a little long.

“No,” Trent answered with a smile, and (as he had just realised he still had claim over Daria's hand) gave said appendage a gentle squeeze. “No one died. Well, unless you count your dad's car.”

~lalaLAlala~

Helen was trying the family-togetherness angle again, and Daria was contemplating how long she'd be able to hide from the attempts at Casa Lane when the doorbell rang.

“I'm not picky,” Jane said when Daria opened the door. She had an easel in one hand and a bag hanging from the other. “The manger will be fine.”

“What happened?” Daria asked as she escorted Jane up to her room. The guest room wasn't made up. “Is the house being fumigated?”

“No,” Jane answered. “Just invaded by family members. Hopefully they'll scatter again before too long though.”

“Trent know you're here?” Daria asked. “You know he does care and worry about you.”

“Damn!” Jane exclaimed softly. “I forgot, and worse, I just left him there! We gotta get him out, Daria! Penny brought back a crazy parrot that _squawks_ , loudly.”

“Penny?” Daria repeated, her own eyes widening slightly in surprise. “The same Penny that Ms Morris drove out of the country?”

“There was apparently an issue with a volcano,” Jane explained.

“You stash your stuff, I'll explain to Helen, and then we'll go rescue your brother,” Daria instructed.

Jane sighed in relief. “Thanks, _Amiga_ ,” she said gratefully.

“Hey, you and Trent regularly give me a safe haven away from my family,” Daria pointed out. “I finally get to return the favour in kind and give you refuge from yours.”

“If I'm very lucky, Wind will decide to try one of the glitter berries and choke, or Penny will drink some of Dad's silver nitrate by mistake, since he left a bottle of it in the kitchen,” Jane muttered darkly as Daria headed out of her room again and down the stairs.

“Mom?” Daria called.

“Yes, Sweetie?” Helen answered with a smile.

“Jane and Trent need somewhere to stay for a couple of days,” Daria started. “They've got a pest problem at their house.” It wasn't completely inaccurate. “Jane came over to ask if they could stay with us while Trent calls pest control.”

“Of course they can stay a few days!” Helen answered with a smile. “It will be nice to have the opportunity to better get to know some of your friends!”

Daria suppressed a wince. Yes, Helen really was on that taking-an-interest kick again.

“Well, Jane can stay in my room, but...”

“I'll make up the guest room for Trent,” Helen said firmly. “You just go and rescue the poor boy from whatever is invading the house, okay? And do be careful not to bring any... whatever the problem is... back with you.”

Daria nodded. “Thanks Mom.”

“Everything good?” Jane asked when Daria met her at the front door.

“Helen's getting sheets to make up the bed in the guest room for Trent even as we speak,” Daria answered as she grabbed her keys.

~lalaLAlala~

“The walls/ are closing in/ the ice/ is getting thin/ no place/ to to be alone/ my house/ is not a home/ psychic refugee/ psychic re-”

“ _Raarwawk_!”

“Waoaoah!”

_Snaptwang_ .

Daria winced at the sounds that greeted her ears when she let herself and Jane into Casa Lane through the back door.

“Trent,” Jane called gently.

He still jumped before he turned around. “Oh, Janey,” he greeted. “And Daria, hey.”

“Hey,” Daria answered. “This is a rescue mission, we're bustin' ya out.”

“Huh?” Trent asked, confused.

“Trent, you're writing a song, a good one by the way, completely on the fly, about how you're no longer comfortable in your own house,” Daria stated plainly.

“I appealed to the Morgendorffers for a place to stay until the,” Jane chuckled, “pest problem gets cleared up.”

Daria had told Jane the story she'd fed to Helen on the drive over.

“Let's grab some stuff to tide you over until the estranged siblings and parents leave again,” Jane instructed, and jerked her thumb up the stairs.

“Good plan,” Trent agreed gratefully, and stood from the couch. His acoustic had a busted string, and he held it loosely in one hand as he stepped up to Daria. “Thanks for this,” he said.

“We can also work on recording some of your solo stuff while you're over,” Daria offered with a content smile.

“Daria's going to create her own art house,” Jane told her brother happily. “Sell art, record music, print literature, the lot!”

Trent smiled. “Very cool,” he proclaimed, and removed his hand from Daria's shoulder.

The trio headed up the stairs to Trent's room.

“So, toothbrush, clean underwear, a guitar, your notebook...” Jane listed off as she started searching the piles of clothes for a bag Trent could use to put this stuff in. “Am I forgetting anything?”

“Only something you didn't actually know about,” Trent answered, and moved to his _Sisters of Mercy_ poster. The deed was probably safe, but with all the family members in the house... Just this once, Trent wished he could be callous enough to serve eviction notices to his own family. Casa Lane was his after all. _He'd_ been the one who paid off the mortgage after his dad had _re_ -mortgaged it to pay for the trip to take pictures of Celtic rock formations – the one he'd just returned from.

Actually, it would be a little bit satisfying when either of his parents went to re-mortgage the house again to pay for one of their artistic ventures, only to be told it wasn't theirs to take a loan against.

“Is that... what I think it is bro?” Jane asked, eyes wide as Trent pulled out the papers in their zip-lock bag.

“It looks to me like title deeds and papers,” Daria offered softly.

“Mom and Dad aren't exactly reliable about paying back the bank,” Trent explained softly. “I paid back the last mortgage on my own, so between me, the bank, and a judge, we figured the house was effectively mine.”

Jane was struck speechless. She could not comprehend when or  _how_ her brother had managed to pull that off – and without her knowing!

Daria smiled up at him. “There's a responsible adult buried somewhere deep down inside of you,” she informed him, “just waiting for the chance to take over the world.”

Trent chuckled. “Good one Daria,” he said. “I gotta write that down before we go.”

“Trent, a responsible adult and potential dictator of the world...” Jane said softly. “This I gotta paint,” she decided.

Trent and Daria both laughed.

“And you!” Jane said, turning an accusing finger on her friend. “Why aren't you as surprised by this as I am?”

“Because I never once thought Trent was a bum, even for a second?” Daria suggested.

Jane's shoulders slumped as the implications hit home. “Sorry Trent,” she apologised.

Trent shrugged. “It's cool,” he said. “Kinda deliberately perpetuated the image.”

Jane blinked. Okay, as someone who wrote songs, her brother did need to have a certain way with words, but those were two very big words used in rapid succession. Daria brought out the best in him, perhaps?


	25. Chapter 25

_Home is a place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in._ \- Robert Frost

~lalaLAlala~

“Mr Morgendorffer, do you have a tarp, or a couple of old newspapers, that I could borrow?” Jane asked.

“Uh, sure, but... what for?” Jake queried as he got up from the couch.

“I got inspired while we were saving Trent from the invasion at Casa Lane, so I'm going to paint while the idea is still fresh, while those two do the music thing,” Jane explained.

“Oh, sure!” Jake agreed.

“Jane's agreed to paint in the guest room while Trent and I record in my room, where the padded walls will keep out most noise from the rest of the house,” Daria added.

“Um...” Jake hesitated, and turned to Trent.

Trent raised both of his hands calmly. “Mr Morgendorffer, I swear, I'm not going to touch your daughter in any inappropriate way while we're up there behind closed doors and sound-proofing. That would be illegal,” he stated.

Jake relaxed, and a happy smile spread across his face. “Thanks for allaying an old man's concerns Trent,” he said. “Well Jane, the old papers are out this way,” he offered happily, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder before he turned to lead the way.

“And the recording studio, otherwise known as my room, is this way,” Daria said quietly to Trent, and started up the stairs.

“I remember,” Trent agreed with a smile.

The first thing they did was finish and record _Psychic Refugee_ , since it was new and burgeoning in Trent's mind. It might make it to the Spiral line-up, but Trent was honest enough about the band that he didn't actually hold much hope that Nick and Max would be able to stop yelling at each other long enough for the band to ever actually make it.

Continuing in the honesty streak, Trent would have to honestly admit that his sound was starting to drift away from the grunge and heavy metal too. Not into pop (the very thought made him shudder), but more along the indi- and alt-rock lines.

They were just about to start on recording another song – one inspired by an item on the list Trent had made per _signs of an unhealthy relationship_ – when Jake called them down to dinner.

He'd been cooking again, and it smelled like one of his successes.

“Did you get through to pest control?” Helen asked Trent as they sat around the table – the arrangement was a bit short on elbow room, since it was the kitchen table, not the dining room table, but they made do.

“I didn't have the heart,” Trent admitted. “The 'pests' are my brother Wind, kicked out of the houseboat he was sharing with his third wife, my sister Penny, back from Costa Rica after their volcano erupted, and my dad back from a photographic expedition,” he explained.

Helen blinked in surprise.

“And I heard Mom talking on the phone while Trent and Daria were loading the Mini,” Jane joined in. “Two of our eldest sister Summer's kids are, ahem, 'coming for a visit',” she said. “I asked Mom if Summer actually knew about that, and Mom agreed that she _should_ , which means Summer won't be far behind to get them.”

“I'm... confused,” Helen said plainly.

“As much as it isn't so great being neglected the way we were growing up, being suddenly crowded by family you don't get along with is much, much worse,” Jane explained, and used her (mercifully empty) fork to emphasise her point.

“For example, if Aunt Amy and Cousin Erin both showed up on our doorstep within half an hour of each other and asked to stay a couple of days,” Daria offered.

“And then throw in couple of extra people and an obnoxious parakeet,” Trent added with a scowl.

“Rita and Mother,” Helen said lowly as she went stone-faced. “I see,” she said – and it was clear that, now, she _did_. “Well, if you abide by the rules of the house, you're welcome to stay until your siblings all scatter again.”

“We'll be good,” Trent promised.

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. “The Spiral aren't getting along well enough to even all come to practice right now, and Trent finally properly broke up with Monique after years of breaking up and getting back together every other week.”

“Taking the time to figure out what I really want in a relationship, rather than just going back to what I know,” Trent said as he nodded. “We really are grateful,” he added.

~lalaLAlala~

Jane and Trent had taken refuge in the Morgendorffer house on a Friday night, and had a whole Saturday of quiet time at the house – Jake was in the kitchen, Helen was doing overtime at the firm, and Quinn was out with the Fashion Club.

Jane's painting of Trent as a responsible adult and world dictator was coming along nicely, and Trent even sort-of modelled for her when he and Daria took their breaks from recording, so she wasn't entirely reliant on old sketches. When the pair emerged for fresh air, they always were considerate enough to grab some food from the kitchen and join Jane in the guest room.

Quiet conversation about the things Jane hadn't realised she should be thanking her brother for, rather than her parents, dominated the first break from recording.

“Bills?”

“Me.”

“Food?”

“Me.”

“Allowance?”

“Me.”

“School?”

“Me.”

“College fund?”

“Mostly me. Mom's been putting a bit in every other month since she realised I'd started one for you.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“How?” Jane demanded. “How did you afford all that _and_ the mortgage?”

“Got a job,” Trent answered with a shrug. “Like any other normal person. I only worked while you were at school though, so you wouldn't know.”

“And how did _Daria_ find out?!”

“Accidentally,” Daria herself admitted, her first contribution to the conversation.

Trent nodded a silent, grateful thanks to her. He didn't really want to explain to his little sister that he'd been feeling like the failure so many people called him, and had spilled everything to a girl he hadn't known for very long at the time. While they were sitting on the side of the road, at that.

The second break from recording, Trent pulled out his notebook.

“Seriously?” Jane asked. “You're recording song after song, and you're still getting inspired?”

“I'm not working on a song,” Trent admitted. “After the last time I broke up with Monique, Daria suggested I figure out what I did and didn't want in a relationship.”

Jane's eyebrows shot up and her enquiring blue gaze shifted from her dear darling brother to her beloved best friend. It was an 'oh _really_?' expression if ever there was one.

“I know that I _don't_ want to end up with five kids that constantly run away from home like Summer. I _don't_ want to end up having to pay two lots of alimony like Wind,” Trent continued, either unaware of or ignoring the Look. “I _don't_ want to end up like Mom and Dad, who are barely ever in the same state for very long, and I _don't_ want to end up alone like Penny either.”

“We don't exactly have the best role-models for how relationships should be, do we?” Jane said, a little sadly.

“No.”

“Have you figured out any of the things you _do_ want?” Daria asked.

Trent turned over the page of his notebook. “I found a quote, got no idea who said it, but it's 'anybody can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly', or something like that,” he started off. “So... I want someone I can be... 'silly' with.”

“Interesting first priority,” Jane noted.

“It's not in any order,” Trent denied, and went back to his notes. “I want someone I can trust with my problems, whatever they are, and my dreams, and I want them to be able to trust me with theirs, too.”

“That's hard to find,” Daria commented softly. “Someone you can really trust like that.”

Trent and Jane both nodded.

“Um... Someone who accepts and respects that they're not the only person who's important to me,” Trent kept on. “Like, they gotta understand that I'll always be there for my little sister,” he said, and gave Jane a smile.

Jane smiled back. “I'll always be there for you too, bro.”

“And ideally, whoever I'd be in a relationship with would be there for you too, because they know how important you are,” Trent added. “And we gotta be able to talk to each other about stuff. Like, for no reason at all, we just like talking to each other, and if we get into a fight, we don't just break it off without resolving the issue. We gotta resolve the issue, so we don't have the same fight again a couple of weeks later.”

“You mean like you and Monique did,” Jane quipped.

“Yeah, like me an' Monique,” Trent agreed with an unhappy nod. “Which is another thing on my _don't_ want list. I _don't_ want someone controlling, manipulative, or who never lets me make my own decisions.”

“Well, that sounds like a good list Trent, but you know...” Jane smirked. “You pretty much just described how you are with Daria.”

The two figures that had been sitting, side-by-side, on the guest-room bed jumped like they'd both suddenly had their spines replaced by metal poles. They went ram-rod straight, and from Trent, that was really impressive.

Daria's face went red, even as her eyes went flinty, fixed on Jane as they were. She couldn't look at Trent.

Trent, on the other hand, slowly turned to look at Daria, trying to figure out what her reaction meant. He'd... he'd had... _inappropriate_ thoughts about Daria before, he knew she was pretty behind her defensive barriers of clothing and glasses, but for various reasons had always forced those feelings aside. But... Jane had a good point.

As he looked at her, Trent let his sleepy old brain revisit every occasion when he'd spent time with Daria. She was easy to talk to, and they could talk about anything. She _got_ him, she believed in him and his dream, and helped him to be pro-active about chasing after it. She was best friends with the only family member he really cared about, so she'd understand if there were times when he'd have to drop whatever he was doing to go help Janey – because she'd be dropping whatever she was doing to help as well...

“Daria,” Trent said softly.

“Yeah?” she asked, barely above a mumble as she bent her head forward, an action that got some of her hair to fall over her face and hide it a little.

“I stand by what I said to your father before. I'm not going to do anything inappropriate with you behind closed doors, because it would be illegal,” Trent told her gently, and shuffled closer to where she was sitting. “But it won't be illegal forever,” he added, and closed a hand around one of hers tenderly. “And by the time it isn't illegal any more, I should have something a bit more solid to offer, if you'd be interested.”

“Mm... Mhm...” Daria answered, a dopey little smile on her face as she nodded.

“ _Yes_!” Jane hissed in triumph as she punched the air.

“Don't get ahead of yourself Jane,” Daria warned.

“I'm not!” she insisted. “You're practically best friends, and you have all this time until a certain eighteenth birthday to get comfortable with the idea. You two will be great together, I know you will.”

Trent chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said with a smile before he looked back to Daria. “And until that day, I'm going to work my butt off so that I'll be worthy of someone as smart and talented as you,” he promised softly.

“Other way around,” Daria mumbled back.

“Not-entirely-objective third parties, like your parents, will disagree on that score,” Jane pointed out to her friend kindly.

Trent nodded. “Gotta convince them too,” he agreed. “Don't want to cause any rifts.”

Daria spared a moment to think of her grandparents, both sides, and how they each felt about their respective son- or daughter-in-law. As much as she preferred not to talk with her parents, they did care about her and were there for her when she needed them to be, so... She nodded in appreciative acceptance of how much Trent cared about Daria's relationship with her family.

~lalaLAlala~

Breakfast on Sunday was interrupted by the doorbell.

“Who could that be?” Jake asked.

It was Helen that went to answer it though.

“Why  _ Amanda _ ,” Helen greeted with a smile as she stepped back from the door. “I guess you've come to claim your children?”

“Are they here?” Amanda asked, surprised by the notion even as she accepted Helen's silent invitation inside.

“They claimed sanctuary when their siblings blew in,” Helen answered dryly.

“Smart of them,” Amanda said, and turned to Helen with a desperate expression. “You gotta help me!” she begged, her general zen-like calm breaking. “I need my house back!”

“Amanda, I  _ may _ have an idea,” Helen told the other woman as she looked back into her own house with resigned frustration.

“Anything!”

“Get them all around the table for dinner and tell them that as long as they're all in residence, they will be having sit-down meals together,” Helen said plainly.

“That is something I just gotta see,” Jane said as she, Trent and Daria joined Helen and Amanda by the front door. “Summer, Penny and Wind all at the table together?”

“It would be less dramatic to serve them with an eviction notice,” Trent said plainly.

Amanda looked up at her youngest son and tallest offspring. He'd even surpassed his father. “I don't think that I can do that,” she admitted. “I do love all of our family, just... not when they're all in the house at the same time.”

Trent blinked. “Um... technically, I would be the one evicting them Mom,” Trent said.

“Trent?” Amanda questioned.

“What do you mean by that Trent?” Helen asked curiously.

“Um, Dad took out a loan against the house last time he left on a photography expedition,” Trent started.

“He  _ what _ ?!” Amanda demanded, shocked. “He never said anything, and I never got any mail from the bank about them foreclosing on us.”

“Uh, I'm the one who paid it back. The deed got re-written under my name after that,” Trent explained a little sheepishly.

“Oh, Trent,” Amanda said softly, apologetic. “You shouldn't have had to do that.”

“But it was very responsible for you to have done it anyway,” Helen added, impressed.

Trent shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the attention over the matter. He had done his best to make sure that particular secret of his had not been spread around before, but it was a couple of years in the past now, so it didn't really matter.

Besides which, he was working on being more visibly responsible, to impress Daria's parents so they wouldn't get mad at her for dating him when she eventually reached eighteen.

“Well, I'll try the family dinner,” Amanda decided. “If that doesn't work to get my house back, then Trent, by all means, evict the lot of us from  _ your _ house. You do have that right. Uh, doesn't he?” she asked Helen.

The law-woman nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face. “He can.”

“Don't really want to do that to family though,” Trent admitted.

“I'm fairly sure you won't have to,” Helen said as she lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and a wry smile twisted her lips.

She was right. He didn't have to. The family dinner worked like a charm to get the house empty again, and then it was just a matter of cleaning up after 'Hurricane Lane', and getting the house back to normal.

Amanda also took a bit of time away from her pottery to talk to Trent about the many house expenses he'd been covering – expenses Amanda had thought were being covered by her husband, but apparently weren't.


	26. Chapter 26

_Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge._ \- Paul Gauguin

~lalaLAlala~

“So, you're going to be dating my brother,” Jane said happily.

“And having Jesse for a model finally cured you of that crush,” Daria countered with a smirk. “I am not going to let you forget that.”

“That's fine,” Jane agreed with a dismissively accepting wave. “After all, I have all those lovely sketches that 'appreciate' the way that boy looks. I'm not about to forget anyway.”

“The whole thing doesn't gross you out?” Daria asked.

Jane shook her head. “Nope. While you and Trent spend the time between now and your eighteenth getting used to the idea that you're interested in each other and don't have to hide it, I'll have that same amount of time to get used to you two actually being a couple. It's not going to be a sudden, shocking thing.”

Daria nodded in acceptance. “So, it's cool then.”

“It's _very_ cool,” Jane corrected. “And thanks for talking to Trent after his last break up with Monique. Really. The rest of us are too desensitised to the whole drama to be supportive the way he needed us to be.”

Daria shrugged, and offered no other words.

“Hey, Lawndale High, are you ready to par-tay cray-zay?” a voice called out over an amplifier, interrupting their comfortable silence.

“What the hell is that?” Jane asked, even as all the other students around them started running for the source.

“If that's an ice cream truck, that better be some damn good ice cream,” Daria answered.

“I'm Bing!”

“And I'm the Spatula Man! And we're _Mental in the Morning_!”

“Because you _gotta_ be crazy to make it through high school!”

A number of the student populace cheered.

Daria, all the way out the side, didn't. Rather, she gave a quiet exclamation of “Good grief.”

“It's _lame DJ's_ , Charlie Brown,” Jane quipped.

“Escape while we still can?” Daria suggested.

“I'm on your six,” Jane agreed.

“The most depressing thing about that,” Daria said as they walked away, “is that those are the people responsible for choosing what music gets played on the radio.”

Jane winced. “Um... set up your own station out of your art house?” she suggested.

~lalaLAlala~

The Morgendorffer evening meal, dubbed by Jake 'Taco Tuesday', was interrupted when Jake started to go red in the face, sweat profusely, and declared he couldn't feel his left arm before he wheezed, sank a bit in his seat, and fell face-first into the bowl of guacamole.

He was promptly rushed to the hospital.

“We'll have to wait for the test results,” the doctor told them, “but so far it looks like a very mild heart-attack.”

“Oh no,” Helen said, fearful for her husband.

“A _heart-attack_?!” Quinn wailed, and started crying into her hands.

“A _very mild_ heart-attack,” the doctor repeated firmly.

“Was there much damage?” Daria asked, forcing herself to be calm about the matter. Helen wasn't being her usual _I-will-have-answers-and-I-will-have-them-NOW_ self, and Quinn was, as previously noted, crying. Someone had to be the sensible one.

“I don't think so,” the doctor answered calmly. “If he adopts the right diet, exercise and attitude, he should be fine. I hope you don't mind the question, but... is there anything in your father's home-life that might be causing him... _stress_?”

“Every bill that comes in the mail, and anything that triggers memories of his childhood,” Daria answered plainly. “To name only the most regular causes. He's burst blood vessels before.”

When Quinn finally stopped crying, she ducked passed Helen and wrapped her arms tightly around Daria.

“Thank you for making me maintain a straight B average, and helping me do it,” she said. “I'm going to study even _harder_ from now on, and go to medical school when I graduate from high school.”

“Quinn? Daria?” Helen asked, surprised by what she was seeing and hearing.

“I'm going to be a heart doctor,” Quinn announced, still holding tight to Daria. “If something had happened to Daddy...”

“But he's going to be alright,” Daria stated. “The doctor said so, and Quinn? You do know that some of the models and posters in my room are -”

“Yes,” Quinn said quickly. “I know. Being a doctor is also _icky_ , but it's important work, and...”

Daria awkwardly patted her little sister on the shoulder.

“Well, if you're really interested, then this pamphlet will lead you to a few books that are good starting points,” the doctor said, and handed over a folded piece of standard printer paper that was full of information, but lacked any colour at all. “Those books all talk about things people need to be aware of after they've had a heart-attack, as well as signs and the preventative measures that current scientific knowledge recommends.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said softly, and accepted the sheet solemnly.

~lalaLAlala~

“Heart-attack? Jake?” Jane clarified.

“Yeah, and my grandmother, Ruth, will be staying with us while he recovers,” Daria explained unhappily.

“Is this the grandmother who said she'd give you a hundred bucks to change your hair?” Jane asked.

“Both my grandmothers said that,” Daria answered.

Then, completely inappropriate to their very serious discussion, Bing and Spatula Man way-laid them.

“Spatula Man, I see a couple of young ladies here who I bet know how to _par-tay_!” the rainbow-wig-wearing Bing said.

“We really should start driving between classes,” Daria said to Jane softly.

“With your car, we actually probably could fit in the hallways,” Jane offered.

“Girls, we've got a treasure chest full of _zeeeeeee_ ninety-three produce here, and all _you_ have to do for the key is tell us, _on the air_ , where you love to get _Mental in the Morning_!” said the balding, somewhat over-weight Spatula Man.

“Note to self,” Jane spoke up, letting her friend keep her silence, since it was _not_ a good week already. “Stop by courthouse on way home, and pick up restraining order.”

“Well... no problem-o,” Spatula man decided. “We'll just find some other mental morning party people.”

With that, Daria and Jane were permitted to pass unmolested and continue on to their next class.

“Thanks,” Daria said shortly.

“You just bottle it up until the end of the week,” Jane advised. “Then really rip into them. So... Quinn's serious about going to med school?”

“It's a way off yet,” Daria said. “But she is really hitting the books, and not just figuring out how to co-ordinate an outfit with a stethoscope.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“... You're really proud of her right now, aren't you?”

“Yes. So proud that I'm openly admitting to being proud of her, even.”

“Wow. And when does Ruth get here?”

“This afternoon,” Daria grumbled. “And she'll bring all of her old-fashioned values with her.”

“How old-fashioned are we talking here?”

“Women shouldn't work, they should be full-time home-makers,” Daria answered.

“Ooh, yeouch. You've still got your key to the back door though, right?”

“Yeah, but with the recent heart-attack, it might not go over too well for me to be out of the house even as much as I usually am,” Daria said. “Especially with Ruth there, much as I dislike the woman.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Still haven't settled on a decorator I see,” Ruth said as she stepped through their front door. The criticism would be starting early, it seemed.

“Actually, if you recall Ruth, I decided to do the decorating myself,” Helen countered.

“Oh, marvellous! I look forward to seeing it, once you get started,” Ruth answered.

“As a matter of fact, it's already -” Helen tried again.

But Ruth turned to Daria and Quinn, cutting off Helen's reply. “And how are my little granddaughters? Daria, you look... you haven't changed a bit,” Ruth said, unable to come up with anything else.

“Actually, I'm fairly sure I'm taller than the last time you saw me,” Daria answered. How pathetic that her grandmother couldn't even say “look how you've grown” when they hadn't seen each other for years.

“And how's my beautiful little Quinn?” Ruth asked, moving on to give Quinn a hug.

A hug that Quinn returned because she had to, rather than because she had any great love for the woman.

“Studying hard,” Quinn answered happily when they separated. “So that I'll be able to go to med school and become a doctor after high school.”

“Quinn, girls as pretty as you don't _need_ to become doctors,” Ruth scolded.

“I've got to be _something_ ,” Quinn answered, “and medicine is a _very_ valid profession.”

“Mom? Is that you?” Jake yelled out.

“Jakey! You shouldn't be yelling,” Ruth called back, her voice softer. “Didn't you give him a bell?” she demanded of Helen.

“We- we were just about to, of course!” Helen answered quickly.

“ _Really_ ,” Ruth said as she marched off to see her son. Clearly, she didn't believe a word of it.

For some reason, when faced with her mother-in-law, Helen's ability to lie went completely out the window.

“Well, Grandma Ruth's here, we've exchanged greetings, I'm getting the hell out,” Daria said. “I'll be at Casa Lane if I'm needed for anything.”

“Be back for dinner,” Helen instructed with a sigh. “We'll all hear it from Ruth if you're not.”

“Got it,” Daria agreed.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria parked her Mini in the Lane driveway, and headed around the back.

Trent was sitting in the gazebo with his guitar, and loud noises were coming from within.

“Hey Daria,” he greeted.

“Hey,” she answered. “Jane up to something?”

“A sculpture,” Trent explained. “I think it's meant to be inspired by your dad's heart-attack. How _is_ Jake?”

“According to the doctor, he'll be fine. According to him, he's at death's door,” Daria answered, and sat down beside Trent with an exhausted sigh. The whole mess was getting to her – Jake's heart attack, Ruth visiting, and the damn DJs at school on top of it all.

“Hey,” Trent said gently, and pulled her closer to him. “It'll work out. We've all got to confront the human condition and mortality some time.”

Daria gratefully snuggled into his side. “Speaking from experience?” she asked softly.

“Tommy Sherman,” Trent reminded her. “Former classmate.”

“Oh yeah,” Daria recalled softly. “Sorry.”

Trent shrugged off the apology. “It's no big deal,” he told her. “Death happens to everyone eventually, and it _hasn't_ happened to your dad yet.”

“Thanks Trent. I needed that.”

Trent smiled down at her. “Glad to oblige. Um... by the way, the Spiral's got a gig in Freemont in a couple weeks. Want to come?”

“I'm your support act,” Daria pointed out. “Freemont might be even deader than Lawndale, but I'll be there. Just give me a date so I can let the parents know.”

“Cool.”

~lalaLAlala~

Friday eventually rolled around, and the DJ's once again targeted Daria as she passed their van on her way to class.

“You've been avoiding us all week long! Why not come up here, and tell us why _zeeee_ ninety-three makes you _Mental in the Morning_!” Spatula summoned.

“Freeeeeee t-shirt!” Bing added.

“It's two sizes to large, _and_ tissue thin,” Jane noted from across the crowd. “How can you resist?” she asked sarcastically.

“You know what, I just can't,” Daria answered her friend, and walked over to the stage, much to Jane's surprise.

Daria was surprised when the crowd around the van the DJs were broadcasting from actually _cheered_ when she took the stage and accepted the microphone.

“A few days ago, my father had a heart-attack,” Daria started, and took peripheral satisfaction in the suddenly guilty expressions being worn by the two annoying DJs. “Forcing me to admit his mortality to myself for the first time. Accepting this grim new knowledge has been _especially_ difficult, as I have been under constant, yammering assault by two utterly brainless and talentless so-called radio personalities. And so for these reasons, I, Daria Morgendorffer, am _Mental in the Morning_ ,” she stated calmly.

The crowd of students was silent, shocked, and one girl even raised a hand to her mouth in that “oh my gosh, I can't believe we all blew it that bad” gesture.

The van was quick to pack up after that.

“Well done,” Jane said when Daria stepped down. “Feel better?”

“Thank you, and yes, but there's one more thing I have to do. It's going to have to wait until I get home though.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Quinn, if you don't take your nose out of that book from time to time, you're going to get wrinkles,” Ruth was saying when Daria entered the kitchen. She was last home. She'd stayed at school and gotten her homework done in the library before returning.

“Reading doesn't give you wrinkles,” Quinn answered. “Or Daria would be covered in them by now.”

“Wouldn't it be easier just to _marry_ a nice doctor?” Ruth suggested, a tiny bit desperately. “Then you could stay home with your children, and have dinner on the table for your husband _every night_.”

“Just what are you getting at, Ruth?” Helen asked, having caught the dirty look sent her way at the end of that little endorsement.

“She wants you both to model your lives after hers, and who could blame her?” Daria said, joining in the conversation. “After all, just yesterday she was telling Dad how she made _all_ the right decisions in her life. _Right_ , Grandma?”

“I- well, uh... I need to check on the laundry,” Ruth decided, and excused herself.

“You both owe me,” Daria informed her mother and Quinn when Ruth was out of ear-shot.

“How _does_ she do that?” Helen asked Quinn.

“You got me.”

Daria smiled to herself, having heard that, and then headed up to see her dad, newspaper under one arm – and Jane's 'get well soon' gift held in the other.

“How're you feeling?” she asked.

“Oh, better I guess,” Jake answered calmly. He'd been reading a book on healthy heart habits. “It's just a little difficult when your first major organ decides to betray you.”

“Just be thankful your pancreas is still on your side,” Daria advised.

Jake smiled a bit at that, and set his book aside. “Daria, how am I doing, as a dad?”

“Well, better than yours, going by your stories of him,” Daria answered. “Here, I already did the hard ones in the crossword.”

Jake smiled widely at that. “Thanks, Kiddo.”


	27. Chapter 27

_ The urge to gamble is so universal and its practice so pleasurable that I assume it must be evil. _ \- Heywood Broun

~lalaLAlala~

Freemont  _ was _ deader than Lawndale, and a hundred miles of road-trip to the gig only served to further splinter, disrupt, and fracture relations between Max the drummer and Nick the bassist. Max liked to claim that the band (or at least he, himself) was 'criminale', but he wasn't really anything of the sort, and contrary to his claims, the presence of the Spiral in Freemont didn't liven the place up all that much. If the Spiral hadn't been falling apart before the Freemont gig, then it well and truly was after it.

Nick couldn't keep up his income to support his little family by 'going on tour', and as much as he loved music, the family came first. Especially when alternative to the family was a band where he and the drummer couldn't have a civil conversation between just the two of them.

Trent told them, straight out, that if they didn't turn up to practice the following Saturday, then the Spiral would be disbanded. If they wanted a musical career, they'd have to find a different band or else try and make it on their own.

“Woah,” Jesse said softly at this pronouncement. “Trent's serious.”

“He is,” Jane agreed. “He's not going to drop you as a friend or creative collaborator, but... even the great bands tear themselves apart. It's just happening to the Spiral before you get big.”

Jesse shrugged in understanding acceptance. “It's okay. Trent's got some good stuff, but the other guys wouldn't go for a lot of it. He'd be going places if Max and Nick weren't holding us back stylistically. We wanted a drummer and a bass to make a better sound. It didn't really work out the way we thought it would.”

Jane blinked. “Jesse... I don't think I've ever heard you be that articulate before.”

Jesse shrugged again. “I mostly leave it to Trent,” he admitted easily.

Nick and Max both heeded the warning, and as much as they didn't get along, they weren't ready to convert to complete normality. They were at practice, and the band didn't break up. At least, not just yet.

~lalaLAlala~

“I realise I'm probably wasting my time,” Jodie started when she stepped up to their table in the cafeteria. “But would either of you be interested in buying tickets to casino night? It's going to be on the Princess Fairy luxury liner.”

“The reason you're wasting your time isn't because we aren't interested in going,” Daria said, “but rather because Ms Li will make it mandatory.”

“She's got a point,” Jane agreed. “Much as we'd rather not, as we'll be staying up all night Friday watching a _Sick Sad World_ marathon, and will be way too tired by Saturday.”

“So...”

“So how much are the damn tickets, and will this 'luxury liner' have beds?”

Jodie smiled gratefully.

Less than half an hour later, Ms Li made the announcement.

“You _do_ appreciate that this is an excuse to put you in a fancy dress, right?” Jane asked her friend.

“After staying awake all night watching TV? Are you going to have the energy for that, Lane?” Daria questioned reasonably.

“I recently discovered that Trent actually does own clothes that not only fit him, but also bear an uncanny resemblance to the thing known as 'a suit',” Jane countered. “If I can talk him into coming to casino night, I will get you into a dress as well. Even if I have to dress you in your sleep.”

“I suppose you want me to wear my contacts for the occasion as well,” Daria nearly growled at her friend.

“It'd be nice,” Jane agreed. “But that I won't force.”

“Thank you.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Casino night?” Trent asked when the concept was presented to him. “On a cruiser?”

“Yep,” Jane confirmed. “The Princess Fairy.”

“And attendance is mandatory for the faculty as well as the students?”

“Yep. Uh... why?” Jane asked.

Trent shook his head. “I'll come,” he agreed.

“And here I was half-expecting to have to bribe you with the promise of putting Daria in a nice dress,” Jane commented with an arched brow.

Trent smirked. “Daria always looks good,” he said frankly. “If you do get her in a nice dress though, I'll wear a suit,” he promised.

“Yes!”

Trent shook his head at Jane in amusement, and headed out.

“Where are you going?” Jane asked.

“Gotta get a ticket if I'm going,” Trent pointed out.

“Okay.”

Trent climbed into his old Plymouth, still just the same as it had always been, untouched by Jane's artistic licence, and headed over to an address he'd discovered when he was a freshman sent out to sell chocolates for fund-raising purposes.

“Well, if it isn't Trent Lane,” Anthony DeMartino greeted when he answered the doorbell.

“Hey,” Trent greeted.

“To what do I owe this _truly_ unanticipated pleasure?” the man asked, strained.

“Came to buy your ticket to casino night from you,” Trent stated, calmly and plainly.

DeMartino stared at Trent for a few minutes. “ _Thank you_!” he said sincerely.

Trent nodded. He knew a lot about the history teacher from his time as a student – forced volunteering had sent him to a meeting for gambling addicts, making coffee, and DeMartino had been an attendee; aforementioned chocolate-selling had enlightened him as to the man's address; he'd learned the man went to military school when he'd gone on the paintball trip with his class... and so on.

“You're welcome,” Trent answered.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria's dress, a la the fashion house of Jane, was a simple but elegant black number made of a stretch fabric so that it hugged every one of her curves perfectly. Jane had made a dress in the exact same style for herself, but in her trademark red.

Trent put on his cleanest suit and combed his hair. Then he carried his still-sleepy girls out to the car, a smile on his face, and drove them to where the Princess Fairy was due to leave from that evening.

Gambling chips up to a set value had been included in the price of buying a ticket, so everybody was given their chips as they presented their tickets at boarding. The girls were awake enough to accept their chips upon boarding, but not _quite_ awake enough to prevent Trent from taking the little plastic circles from them a short while later.

Trent immediately cashed all but three chips, split the money, and then towed the girls over to the poker table.

“Trent, what are you doing?” Daria asked with a yawn as she claimed one of the cushioned chairs Trent had found for her and Jane to sit in while he took a third.

“I'm going to teach you and Janey how to get through college on six bucks a week, if you can stay awake enough to watch,” he answered with a smile. One of the guys at the meeting where Trent had found out about Mr DeMartino's problem _had_ , in fact, put themselves through college on poker winnings. It hadn't been a problem until he'd decided to try _other_ forms of gambling after he'd graduated.

Trent took great pleasure in cleaning out Mrs Manson – the woman had sent _every_ one of his siblings to that crummy self-esteem class, himself included. It was petty revenge, but he smiled like a shark when she left the table in a huff.

The other two at the table, apart from Ms Li, were senior students. They'd be graduating soon enough, though it never felt like soon enough. The girl was the next to go, having tried too hard to flirt with Trent and the other guy at the table, and completely failing to keep track of her cards properly. Said other guy vacated before he was out of chips, as Mr O'Neill asked to join the table, and really, that was his loss. Clearing out timid little Timothy O'Neill was easier than buying a cake.

Ms Li was the tricky one, though he _was_ slowly whittling away at her pile of chips as well.

But then, of all people, Helen Morgendorffer joined them at the table.

“Trent, what a nice surprise,” Helen greeted pleasantly. Then turned her gaze on Ms Li. “Angela.”

“Helen,” Ms Li answered, just as evenly and neutrally.

“Deal me in?” Helen requested.

Daria and Jane had been taking turns with that task, as relatively neutral parties, since they weren't actually playing. It was non-demanding and they got to take turns napping as well. It was Jane's turn.

“Mm, deal me out,” Trent decided as Jane started to shuffle. “I think it's time to cash in, before things get... _intense_.” He had no desire to be caught between two competitive women like Ms Li and Mrs Morgendorffer after all. With the buffers of Mrs Manson, the two senior kids, and O'Neill, it had been fine. If it had _just_ been him and Ms Li, then he could have continued to slowly chip away at the woman's pile of chips. For that matter, he could probably have handled just him and Mrs Morgendorffer at the table as well, but both of them? No, he wasn't going to risk _that_.

“Okay,” Jane agreed with a yawn, and dealt.

While she was doing that, Trent collected up his chips and stood.

“Keep an eye on Daria while I cash these?” he asked Jane.

“You got it,” she agreed sleepily. “Just, don't take too long, okay?”

“I'll be quick,” Trent promised.

The final tally at the exchange counter was very impressive for such a small start, and Trent smiled to himself as he once again divided the cash into three equal parts and went back to the poker table for his girls.

It was quickly apparent that he had good timing for things other than guitar riffs. The boat _crashed_ not five minutes after Trent collected Daria and Jane from the poker table. It was an impressive sort of crash too. The Princess Fairy collided with a garbage barge, and then ran aground.

“Damn,” Trent said softly as other passengers started screaming in fright. “It's gonna be a long walk back to the car.”

“On the bright side, at least it isn't a long _swim_ back to the shore,” Daria offered.

“I dunno, floating on your back is a lot easier than having to hold yourself upright,” Jane quipped with a yawn.

~lalaLAlala~

They'd been assigned a multimedia project. The whole thing was to be done on computer – images, sound, the lot – and Jane wanted some music thrown in. Something techno-dance, rather than the alt-rock-grunge-metal stuff Trent did with the Spiral, or the incredible fingering stuff Daria did herself.

“It will give Trent a chance to unleash the techno-dance freak he's got buried deep down inside that alternate rocker exterior,” Jane insisted with a smile.

“As long as this techno-dance freak doesn't wear spandex,” Daria allowed. “I suppose that's why he bought that synthesiser with his winnings from casino night?”

Jane shook her head. “Nah,” she denied. “That was Trent trying to see if he could simulate the _sound_ of a band without actually _needing_ one.”

“Huh,” Daria said softly, thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea, considering how Nick and Max are still fighting so much.”

“So, we'll ask him at the Spiral gig tonight?” Jane suggested.

“It's at the Zon,” Daria pointed out. “I'll be playing during the break between sets.”

“After the gig then,” Jane conceded.


	28. Chapter 28

_ It takes a kind of shabby arrogance to survive in our time, and a fairly romantic nature to want to. _ \- Edgar Z. Friedenberg

~lalaLAlala~

“Jane?  _ Jane _ !”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, that guy keeps _looking_ at me,” Jane defended as the Spiral played their closing number for the first set – _Mr Normal_.

“Yeah, I can see you're really broken up about that,” Daria said flatly. “Look I just need to go to the bathroom, and I'll probably have to head straight for the stage after that.”

“Okay,” Jane agreed.

“If you decide to, oh, I don't know... _leave_ with the guy who keeps _looking_ at you, make sure you let Trent know before you do?” Daria requested. “You know he worries about you. Frankly, I do too, sometimes.”

“Gotcha,” Jane agreed with a smile. “And, thanks _Amiga_ _._ ”

Daria shook her head to herself as she headed for the bathroom. When she re-emerged, the Spiral were climbing down from the stage. Time for her to climb up then. Scanning the crowd once she was comfortable on her stool (she always took up position on a stool while she performed, rather than just standing there like a complete nitwit), Daria noted that Jane had disappeared. She sighed to herself, but didn't let it deter her.

Daria launched into her version of _Misery Chick_. Well, her musical interpretation of the poem. It didn't sound anything like what Trent had come up with for the Spiral when they performed the song.

“So, what was it you and Janey were going to ask me about?” Trent asked a couple of hours later when Daria was helping the Spiral pack up after the second set. Jane had reappeared in time for the second set, but had continued to talk with the guy, rather than reuniting with Daria, and had disappeared with him again when the second set was over.

“We need thirty seconds of music for a school multimedia project,” Daria answered. “Jane thought it would be an opportunity for you to do something with that synthesiser you bought, since the project has to be completely digital.”

Trent smirked. “Sure,” he agreed. “Come over tomorrow? Say noon? We can jam a while and get the music for your project hammered out straight up.”

Daria nodded. The next day was Saturday, so the timing wasn't an issue. “The project isn't due for two weeks, but getting it done sooner rather than later is good,” she allowed. “Thanks Trent.”

“No problem,” he deferred, and did a quick scan of the club. It was effectively empty. He bent quickly and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for asking me,” he said. “You didn't have to, and I know that.”

Daria smiled as a blush warmed her cheeks.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria let herself in through the back door of Casa Lane, and quietly tip-toed her way upstairs. After a late night at the Zon, it was entirely possible that Trent and Jane would both still be asleep, even if it was nearly noon. A quick check in on Jane proved that the artist was still sleeping, but peeking into Trent's room found it empty.

That meant, if he wasn't out getting food (a possibility), that he would be in the basement. The basement which was somewhat sound-proofed now, for recording purposes.

Daria smiled to herself and headed back down to the kitchen. If there was food, she'd continue on to the basement. If there wasn't, then she'd make a pot of coffee and maybe wake Jane.

There _was_ food. As well as a pot of coffee and one used mug in the sink.

Daria continued down to the basement.

“Hey,” Trent greeted with a smile. He was squatted over a pile of leads and wires and hooking his synthesiser up to a computer.

“Hey,” Daria returned with a smile of her own.

“So, what's your project topic this time?” Trent asked as he stood. “Not the Spiral again, I'm guessing.”

Daria shook her head, a wry smile on her face. “We're going to do the stages of emotional trauma of a high school student,” she answered. “With phases and everything.”

“Phases?” Trent asked with a smirk.

“Phase one: disbelief,” Daria stated.

Trent chuckled. “Followed by denial?”

“Yep. Then trying to get out of it, after which comes impotent fury, and finally acceptance,” Daria said.

“Acceptance?” Trent asked.

“To college.”

Trent laughed. “Good one Daria.”

“So... show me how the synthesiser works?”

~lalaLAlala~

They got the required thirty-second music sample that could be looped for the project, and then they had some fun. Trent recorded the sound of the toilet flushing, a tap turning on and off, and the spraying noise the hose made, and used them to mix a 'plumbing version' of Dolly Parton's _9 to 5_ , with Trent doing vocals.

Daria had a hard time keeping in the laughter. Honestly, so did Trent, but he saw it through to the end. The mix was saved for posterity and those days (which would inevitably come) when they just needed something to laugh to.

With that achievement under their metaphorical belts, Daria headed up to re-heat the coffee and wake Jane. Trent was ordering pizza.

“Daria?” Jane asked. “Do you know what time is is?”

“About two in the afternoon,” Daria answered flatly.

Jane winced. “I suppose righteous indignation isn't really appropriate then,” she said.

“Not for you,” Daria answered firmly. “No.”

Jane winced again. “I guess I kind of deserted you for Tom...” she said apologetically. “Sorry.”

“You did,” Daria agreed. “ _Tom_?”

“I was back for the second set?” Jane tried.

“And still left me standing on my own,” Daria countered.

“Um... I was trying to give you more quality time with Trent?” Jane tried.

Daria shook her head. “One of us was on stage until the end of the second set,” she countered, her logic infallible.

“Did he agree to do the music?” Jane asked, attempting to divert conversation onto safer grounds.

“He did, and the music is _done_ ,” Daria announced. “So is the script. I did it this morning before coming over. I've recorded my parts too.”

Once again, Jane had cause to wince. “Um... guess that just leaves my part for this project, huh?”

“Yup,” Daria said firmly. “There's coffee in the kitchen, and the pizza guy should here soon-ish.”

“Fantastic,” Jane declared with a sleepy smile. “Just... lemme get dressed, I guess.”

“See you down there,” Daria agreed.

~lalaLAlala~

Interestingly, another person arrived at the door of Casa Lane at the same time as the pizza delivery guy.

“Um... I _do_ have the right house, don't I?” asked the guy Jane had gone with the previous evening.

“That depends entirely on what or who you're looking for,” Daria answered plainly as she paid the pizza guy.

“I wanted to make sure Jane was alright after those two jumbo-burgers she ate last night,” the guy said.

“She overslept to allow for proper digestion, but is otherwise fine,” Daria replied as she claimed the pizza box and the pizza guy left. He had other pizzas to deliver after all.

“Hey!” Jane called in greeting as she came down the stairs. “How ya doin'?”

“Hi,” the guy greeted with a smile. “I _do_ have the right house. Good to know.”

“Tom, this is my best friend Daria,” Jane introduced as she came to stand by said brunette. “Daria, this is Tom. What are you doing here?” Jane queried in Tom's direction.

“I wanted to make sure you weren't sick after eating those two jumbo-burgers,” Tom repeated.

Jane smirked. “Are you kidding? I could eat five of those babies and never feel a thing,” she claimed. Only to burp and disprove her claim. “Um, 'scuse me. Hey, come on in!”

“No, you've got company,” Tom deferred.

“And homework to do,” Daria added pointedly.

Jane winced. “It isn't due for two weeks,” Jane countered defensively.

“And how long will your artistic temperament take to come up with sketches you like for it?” Daria probed.

“Umm...” Jane hesitated.

“That's what I thought,” Daria answered.

“Dammit Daria!” Jane exclaimed, frustrated.

Daria smiled. “You've got two weeks, and only your bit to do,” she said. “I know you can get it done in _one_ week. I'm just being a pain because I care about your grades. You _are_ my best friend after all.”

Jane relaxed, a smile returning to her face. “Thanks Daria.”

“Don't take so long that the pizza gets cold,” Daria advised, and took the pizza to the kitchen. “Or eaten without you,” she added over her shoulder.

“You wouldn't!” Jane called after her, panic in her voice.

“Maybe not on my own,” Daria called back, “but I'm not the only one eating this pie.”

“Hey, pizza's here on time,” Trent's voice wafted from the kitchen. “Cool.”

“Dammit!” Jane whimpered.

Tom chuckled. “Go on,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you weren't ill from the burgers. We'll catch up some other time?” he offered. “Say... Monday after school? I'll pick you up and we can do something.”

Jane smiled. “That'd be real cool,” she agreed.

Tom smiled. “Well then, see ya.”  
Jane nodded, and once Tom was back to his car, she shut the door and ran for the kitchen. There were two slices left, and Daria and Trent were both smirking at her.

“I wish to express concern over the guy who, after one half-assed date, is already inviting himself over,” Daria stated once Jane was seated and eating.

“Concern noted,” Jane got out between mouthfuls. “Also appreciated, but shall be ignored. He's a pleasant young fellow.”

“Let's just not have a repeat of the total shut-out that happened when you joined the Track Team, please,” Daria requested.

Jane froze with her teeth half-way towards each other around her slice of pizza as guilt, once again, reminded her just how _great_ a friend she was to Daria.

“I promise,” Jane agreed. “So... the project?”

“Everything is on your computer,” Daria said. “Just need the pictures, and your lines recorded.”

Jane smiled. “Great. I can handle that.”

“Of course you can,” Daria stated with complete faith. “You're Jane Lane. You painted the entire gym by yourself in under two days.”

Jane's smile became a grin at the memory. Yes, she _was_ capable of being totally awesome. It was something that she forgot from time to time.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was walking home from school the day the multimedia project had been due (they'd got a good mark, Jane had finished her part of the project within the week, just as Daria had known she could). She did, occasionally, still prefer to walk rather than take her Mini. It was kind of the closest she came to willingly exercising. She stopped walking, however, when a horn beeped and a car semi-screeched to a halt on the road beside her.

“Wow,” Daria said flatly as she took in the rusted vehicle and its driver. “I can see why Jane wanted to go for a ride in _this_ car,” she said sarcastically.

“You know Jane,” Tom agreed. “She's a thrill-seeker. A gas-tank that could blow at any minute? She couldn't resist.”

Daria didn't react.

“That was a joke,” Tom insisted.

“Mm,” Daria allowed thoughtfully. “Bad one. The Pinto does have a reputation, after all.”

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?” Tom offered.

“What are you? Some kind of compulsive ride-giver?” Daria demanded flatly. “I'm walking, thanks.”

Tom got out of his car. “I'll walk with you a ways,” he decided.

“What are you doing?”

“Look, I'd like to talk to you, okay?” Tom asked.

“So talk,” Daria allowed.

“Look, you don't like me, and that's fine,” Tom started. “There's no reason you should.”

“I agree with your latter point, but you're making an assumption on the first,” Daria corrected. “I, in fact, feel nothing for you at all. Not like, but not dislike either. You, like much of the rest of the population, have my apathy.”

Tom wasn't entirely sure how to react to that. He'd never had someone declare _apathy_ to him before. It wasn't something he was used to. Still, he ploughed on. “But it would be nice if you could try and get along with me a little,” Tom said. “At least in front of Jane.”

“Why should I?” Daria demanded flatly.

“Because I really like her, and want to get to know her.”

“So?”

“So _you_ hating _me_ puts _her_ in a very awkward position,” Tom continued.

“I don't hate you,” Daria answered. “That would involve having strong feelings on the matter. I told you already, I am totally apathetic towards you. Until you prove yourself worthy of my hard-earned respect, or more likely my easily-won contempt, I will remain totally apathetic towards you. We are not friends, we will not be friends any time soon, and even if we were friends, I still wouldn't get in that car. Now, please leave me alone so that I may continue to walk in peace and solitude.”

“Um... okay.”


	29. Chapter 29

_The human race never solves any of its problems. It merely outlives them._ \- David Gerrold

~lalaLAlala~

“You really scared Tom,” Jane noted to Daria the next day at school. There was a smile on her face though, so she clearly found the boy's fear amusing.

“I really can't think why,” Daria replied honestly.

Jane smirked. “He's never been faced with such complete and total apathy before,” she answered with a chuckle. “I think you had him questioning the validity of his existence.”

“That self-assured young man?” Daria checked with faux surprise.

“You have once again spoken, and left total chaos in your wake,” Jane answered proudly. “Not even kids who grow up with old money and are forced to attend expensive prep schools stand a chance against you.”

“That is actually very comforting to know,” Daria admitted with a small, pleased smile. She'd gotten Brittany to realise that there were better guys to date than Kevin, and she hadn't spoken to the quarter-back more than was strictly necessary for the better part of six months. Yes, she came, she spoke, she left chaos in her wake. “Now, if only I could properly dent Mrs Bennet.”

“Well, at least she's stopped _exclusively_ drawing football plays on the board at last, and is actually giving us some _real_ notes to copy now and then,” Jane commented, and went first into their next class.

Mrs Bennet's econ class.

“This is going to be very exciting,” Mrs Bennet told the class once they were all seated. “We're going to set aside our textbooks, and experience some _real life_ economics. Renting an apartment, applying for a credit card, opening a retirement account. Of course, I don't expect you to _actually_ rent an apartment or what have you. You'll just go through as much of the process as you can, and report back on your experiences. Your assignment tonight is to pick a project, and a partner.”

Daria smirked.

Jane spotted it, and while she could only guess at what her best friend was thinking, she couldn't help but smirk right along with her.

“What are you thinking in that genius head of yours, _Amiga_?” Jane asked when they were let out.

“Art house,” Daria answered succinctly.

“Daria!” Jane exclaimed, thrilled.

~lalaLAlala~

“Step one for an art house is, for the sake of this project, going to be finding a suitable building,” Daria said when the two friends were settled in on the couch of the Casa Lane living room. “I've got the software for the recording studio.”

“And I've got the art to stock the place, ready for the grand opening,” Jane added with a smirk.

Daria nodded. “We just need a location. We can't operate out of Casa Lane forever.”

“Why not?” Trent asked.

“Ah!” the two girls exclaimed, surprised. He'd snuck up on them.

Trent chuckled. “Sorry,” he apologised with a smile.

“It's okay,” Jane replied, one hand over her still-racing heart.

“So, why can't you operate out of Casa Lane forever?” Trent asked. “I own it already, and I really don't mind converting it.”

“Two good reasons, Trent,” Daria answered with a smile. “One: it's your _home_. Two: it's in _Lawndale_. I don't really see an art house being all that successful in Lawndale, all desires to the contrary aside.”

“Hmm, good point,” Trent admitted. “Still, it's a good back-up, right?”

Daria nodded. “And while it's just us involved, it serves us well, but if we want to expand -”

“And we do,” Jane agreed.

“Then we need something bigger, and in a place where art houses won't be dismissed out of hand,” Daria finished. “But also somewhere that the competition won't be _too_ fierce.”

“Fair enough,” Trent admitted with a nod. “If you need collateral though...”

“We _really_ shouldn't need to take out a loan against the house,” Jane stated firmly. “I mean, with my berry sales...”

“My earnings from Zon gigs,” Daria added.

“And all our other avenues of minor income, we're doing pretty good on the savings front,” Jane declared.

“At least enough for a deposit,” Daria affirmed. “And property sales rarely get purchases that are made in one lump-sum payment. We make the deposit, we keep earning, and we pay back a bit more each month with what we manage to make.”

“If you need another income to make those payments though,” Trent reminded them.

The girls smiled.

“Lane, Morgendorffer and Lane,” Jane said with a smile. “It's got a nice ring to it.”

Trent slid around to sit next to Daria on the couch. “Except that if I have my way, Daria won't be 'Morgendorffer' for too long after she graduates.”

“High school or college?” Jane asked archly.

“College,” Trent answered with a sigh. “I've started taking some make-up classes while you girls are at school. Hopefully, when _you_ both go off to college, I can do the same thing at the same time. Go with with you, for preference.”

“What are you going to study?” Jane asked softly.

“Accounting,” Trent admitted. “I may still shudder at even the idea of algebra, but I've been handling the money for this house long enough. Want to see if I can step it up to the next level. If I can, then that'll be a good thing.”

“I'll be studying business and law, since I've got the background for it, with a few lit courses for fun on the side,” Daria said.

“I clearly remember saying I was gonna do business, but if you're taking that, then I suppose that leaves me with the advertising and public face aspect of the art house,” Jane declared with a happy chuckle. “Fine arts college, along with media and marketing studies, here I come!” she called, and pumped a fist into the air.

Daria and Trent chuckled at her enthusiasm. She really was the most dramatic of them all.

“So, where are we gonna set up the art house?” Jane asked.

“Time to start making a list,” Daria said, and pulled out a pad of paper. “If we say New York, I might be able to ask Val if she knows anywhere going.”

“Ooh, good idea,” Jane agreed eagerly.

“Or there's Boston,” Trent suggested. “There's good colleges there, and if you can get to your art house to keep up the business without having to catch a plane while you're still studying, then that would be good too.”

“An excellent point,” Daria agreed, and wrote Boston down under New York.

A couple more cities got added, and then they started looking through the property ads. Ultimately, they narrowed it down to two warehouses in Boston and two in New York. The current owners were called and prices discussed, but there would be no purchases made before they could actually look around the places themselves – they just didn't trust advertising photos to be completely truthful.

Trent made appointments with each of the property owners to visit them on a couple of weekends – the Boston warehouses one weekend, the New York warehouses another. He was just going to have to serve a few more judicial processes than usual to be able to pay for the flights up and a room to stay in each city. And taxis.

The stage they were currently stopped at, however, was enough to give a report for Mrs Bennet's econ class.

~lalaLAlala~

“Class, in my hand I hold a piece of paper which has the potential to open up a world of positive experiences!” O'Neill declared with a smile. And, yes, he was waving a piece of paper around in one hand. “A sign-up sheet for an overnight hill-trek. An excellent opportunity to understand the primal struggle for survival we made it through together in _The Call of the Wild_.”

“Hmm, twenty-four consecutive hours with our classmates,” Jane mused.

“It doesn't get any more primal than that,” Daria agreed.

“So my guess is you _won't_ be signing up,” Jane said as the sheet was passed to her.

“No,” Daria agreed. “I'm going to wait for Helen to pay me to go, so that she and Jake can have some quality private time.”

Jane blinked at her friend. “I don't know if you're being uncharacteristically optimistic, or if it's just creepy how well you've got your parents' behaviour patterns figured out,” she admitted.

“In this instance, I see no great downside,” Daria explained as the sign-up sheet was passed on without either of their names on it. “I could stay home and avoid spending those twenty-four consecutive hours with our classmates, _or_ I could get a nice little wad of cash, and have the opportunity to expose myself to an alternative muse.”

“Well, not to deliberately abandon you or anything _Amiga_ , but I had a bad experience on that hill with the girl scouts,” Jane admitted. “We kept marching and singing and _marching_ and _singing_. So I _won't_ be going.”

“You were a girl scout?”

“Not after the deprogramming.”

~lalaLAlala~

“These climbing shoes will look _so_ cute with the matching tear-resistant cigarette pants,” Quinn declared happily as she browsed through a catalogue.

“Yes,” Helen agreed wearily. “Daria, is there anything you'd like to order from the catalogue?”

“How about the tear-resistant new identity?” she suggested, and left the breakfast table to turn on the small kitchen TV.

“Dad and I would be happy help _you_ get outfitted for the field trip too,” Helen informed her eldest with a smile, even as she turned _off_ the set seconds after Daria had clicked it on. “Wouldn't we Jake?”

“Dammit! What the hell is that letter?” Jake demanded. He seemed to be having trouble reading the back of the cereal box. A problem solved by Helen when she took it from him.

“Now, I'll need a credit card,” Quinn interjected with a smile. “But don't worry about the cost, because it's for a field trip, so technically we're talking school supplies, and _nothing's too good for our girl's education_ ,” she quoted with a giggle.

“You're going on a trip?” Jake asked. He really wasn't very good at multitasking when he was reading.

“Jake, with Daria and Quinn away over night, this is the perfect opportunity for us to spend that quality couples time recommended by our intimacy counsellor,” Helen informed the man.

Unseen, back at the other end of the kitchen, Daria smirked to herself. Oh yes, she'd be getting cash for this one.

“Great idea!” Jake declared happily. “Who?”

“I've been seeing an intimacy counsellor to promote growth and togetherness in our relationship,” Helen explained as she set the cereal box down on the table. “It was just easier to schedule if I went alone. I'll fill you in later.”

“Alright,” Jake agreed, his attention diverted once again by the cereal box.

“I hate to burst this bubble of marital bliss,” Daria stated, “but since I'm not going on the field trip, you'll have to forgo your _quality_ couples time for the usual _inferior_ couples time.”

Daria got a hundred in cash, a new, good-quality, pure wool coat with lots of pockets, and another pair of Doc Martins as her price. Similarly to how Quinn was milking the occasion for a _great_ deal more clothes than she would _actually_ be taking with her. She may have been slowly creeping up from being a straight B student, through B-plus, to an A-minus student, with designs on straight As (she was still aiming for med school when she got out of high school), but she still loved her clothes and accessories.

~lalaLAlala~

“Alright girls, your father and I will be at the Big River Cabin just a couple of miles from your camp site if you need anything at all,” Helen told them when they reached the school.

“Unless it's money,” Jake added. “Bye!”

“So,” Daria said to Quinn as the car drove off. “What did you manage to pare your supplies down to? If I recall, you _did_ order a _lot_ more than you brought with you.”

Quinn nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I've got two full changes of clothes, in case of accidents, toothbrush, hairbrush, water, one of those nifty new sleeping bags that smushes up real small, and some trail-mix. You?”

“Some snacks, water, hairbrush, toothbrush, clean socks and underwear, one of those same sleeping bags, and my notebook,” Daria answered. “I'm not worried if I get a bit muddy.”

“No, I suppose you're not,” Quinn said with a sigh. “One of these days, sister dear -” Quinn _did_ admit to it when none of her school friends could hear her, and the Fashion Club had, as a collective, elected _not_ to go on the hike. Quinn was the only one who was. “One of these days, I am going to get you to _really_ care about your appearance.”

“I do care,” Daria answered. “My sense of style is just contrary to your sense of fashion.”

“Allowable,” Quinn decided with a resigned sigh.

“Good morning students!” DeMartino yelled into a speaker-phone. “Please be so gracious as to haul your milk-fed buttocks onto the bus!”

“Hurry up girls,” Ms Barch instructed as she passed them, carrying a couple of large bags. “You don't want to get left behind.”

“I want to make comment on that,” Daria admitted to Quinn, “but it's Ms Barch.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “That woman scares me,” she admitted.

“Apparently she was very calm and nice before the divorce,” Daria said as they climbed onto the bus. They _could_ get along and actually be sisterly to one another, it was just something that both of them generally avoided for the sake of their respective reputations.

Reputations that were going to be set aside for the sake of unity in the face of uncivilised wilderness.

“Um, Daria?” Quinn asked nervously as, an hour later, they disembarked from the bus. “You don't suppose those clouds are going to, um...”

“It does look like a blizzard of epic proportions,” Daria agreed.

“Don't you worry girls,” Ms Li said to them. “We'll reach base camp _long_ before any inclement weather should arrive,” she declared with surety, and then dug into the large pack she'd been dragging. “And once I document our triumphant assent with _this_ camera -” it was practically a professional piece of equipment. Where _were_ that woman's priorities for the school budget? “- Lawndale High's wilderness adventure club will be a shoe-in for a lucrative sponsorship from _Extreme Sports Mania Worldwide Inc_!”

“I didn't know Lawndale _had_ an adventure club,” Quinn commented.

“We do now!” Ms Li snapped. “Further more, Miss Morgendorffer,” she said, and turned her gaze to Daria, so the sisters would know exactly _which_ Miss Morgendorffer she was speaking to, “due to your outstanding achievements in media studies, _you_ are going to be in charge of filming the expedition.”

“What?” Daria asked, even as Li shoved the camera into her arms.

“That had better count as an extra-curricular activity,” Quinn spoke up.

“It does,” Li agreed shortly.

“I'll carry your backpack,” Quinn offered. “Since it looks like you'll be carrying _that_ thing now,” she added with a gesture to the pack Li had pulled the camera from.

“Much appreciated,” Daria said, and traded her usual grey backpack for the great green monster she'd just been corralled into toting.

~lalaLAlala~

“Wow Daria,” Brittany said as she fell into step with her and Quinn. “I didn't know you were strong enough to carry all that equipment.”

“Neither did I,” Daria answered shortly. “It's kind of a surprise.”

“It's because you're used to carrying all those books around all the time,” Quinn suggested.

“Books _are_ heavy,” Brittany agreed thoughtfully. “Um, what's that?” she asked, and pointed up ahead to where Zoe – one of her cheerleaders and Kevin's girlfriend since Brittany had moved on – was screaming.

Daria checked that the camera was definitely recording, and pointed it at the girl.

“Kevin gave her flowers that had bees in them,” Daria reported, able to answer with thanks to the zoom feature.

“Oh my,” Quinn commiserated softly.

“Well... at least Zoe isn't _allergic_ to bee stings,” Brittany consoled.

“Not like O'Neill seems to be allergic to pollen,” Daria added as she swung the camera around to where the man had collapsed on the side of the trail and was sucking desperately on an inhaler.

“Of course he is,” Quinn quipped lowly.

“What's the hold-up people?” Li called out.

“Mr O'Neill can't find his inhaler,” Mack answered.

“Then someone will just have to short-rope him,” Li decided. “ _No one_ is turning back.”

“Perhaps one of the football team?” Brittany suggested with a perky little smile that no one would even suspect of hiding a devious little brain. “Normally training is pushing _against_ something, but wouldn't _pulling_ be just as affective training when they won't be able to go to morning practice tomorrow?”

“Excellent idea Brittany,” Ms Barch praised with a smirk. “Kevin!”

Daria and Brittany shared a smile, and even let Quinn in on it.

With Kevin hauling Mr O'Neill, the group made it to base camp without too much trouble. There was the unpleasant surprise of the impending blizzard deciding to stop being impending and start being actually present, but they made it to the cheap cabin that Ms Li had booked for their use within an hour of the first snowflakes being sighted.

All in all, it was a disturbingly boring field trip after that. Still, Daria was able to get some poetry written when they were inside, and she had something else she could put on her resume and college applications when she got home: knows how to operate professional-level filming equipment.


	30. Chapter 30

_The old complaint that mass culture is designed for eleven-year-olds is of course a shameful canard. The key age has traditionally been more like fourteen._ \- Robert Christgau

~lalaLAlala~

Daria did, on occasion, have call to go to the mall. It usually happened when she'd filled up one of her notebooks and needed another. Yes, she had her computer, but she preferred to compose her poetry with a pen, and arrange her music with a pencil.

Before heading off to the repository of human greed, she checked in with Jane and Trent, to see if they wanted or needed anything before she headed down.

“Yeah,” Jane answered, and set aside her paints. “A lift? I'm meeting Tom there in an hour, and then we're going to drive around in his car for a while.”

“Sure,” Daria agreed. “Leaving in two. Just gotta check if Trent wants anything.”

“Um...” the young man said when Daria posed the question to him. “I've almost filled my current notebook,” he admitted.

“I'm going to the book store for more of those anyway,” Daria told him with a smile.

Trent smiled back. “Let me find some cash for you -”

“I got it,” Daria deferred. “It's my turn.”

“Daria, a good notebook is a bit more than a soda or a slice,” Trent pointed out seriously.

Daria shrugged. “It's all going on Helen's Green Card anyway,” she admitted. “I'm _supposed_ to be shopping for Quinn's birthday present, and Mom knows I'm not about to spend _my_ money on her, even if she _has_ gotten a bit better lately.”

Trent chuckled. “Alright then,” he allowed. “I know when I'm beaten.”

Daria nodded. “Good,” she said. “You're saving up for college as well after all. We don't want to dip into those funds if we can help it, even for the quasi-essentials.”

Trent smiled softly at her and set his guitar aside. A couple of strides and he left his bed behind to tower over Daria, but then he bent and kissed her cheek. “It's a shame none of those warehouses worked out,” he said softly.

The guys selling had all decided that Trent was too young and looked too much like a bum (despite the suits he wore to the meetings) to be able to pay their asking prices – prices that had jumped up when they met him.

“It's okay,” Daria reassured him, again. “We can look again once we're _in_ college, and away from Lawndale.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey _Amiga_ , I'm ready to go!” Jane called.

“Later,” Trent said.

“Later,” Daria agreed.

“Thanks for the ride,” Jane said as she slipped into the passenger seat of Daria's car.

“No problem. Thanks for not asking me to interact with your boyfriend,” Daria answered as she climbed in behind the wheel.

“You don't like him, do you?” Jane asked, a little sadly.

“I thought we went over this,” Daria countered lightly. “Unless and until he does something worthy of eliciting any sort of emotion from me, he has my apathy.”

“Oh yeah. I remember now. You terrified poor young Thomas into questioning his existence.”

Jane and Daria parted ways at _The Forbidden Zone_ comic book store, and were fortunate enough to miss an altercation between Kevin and Zoe – he wanted to buy a leather jacket and look like a rebel, but Zoe objected to anybody wearing leather. She didn't mind boys eating burgers, but _she_ was a vegetarian and _she_ didn't believe in killing cute, innocent cows just so a person could wear their skin and look like (as far as she was concerned) a loser.

Kevin didn't buy the jacket, but Zoe still dumped him. At least for the afternoon.

~lalaLAlala~

After a vaguely entertaining history class where the entire football team (save Mack) somehow got hold of a test before hand and so got unbelievably perfect scores, Mr DeMartino expressed a desire to fail the whole class if no one stepped up to claim responsibility. Unfortunately for him, though the lock on his filing cabinet had clearly been tampered with, he couldn't prove exactly who the guilty person (or persons) was. As such, he warned them that anybody getting plummeting scores on a new test – to be taken immediately – would be under _extreme_ suspicion.

Daria considered the perfect score on her test (normal), and then set the sheet aside to accept the new test, with full expectation that, despite the surprise nature of this test, she'd still do just as well as she had on the one previous. Perhaps she shouldn't pick quite as many history books for her pleasure reading? Then again, fact was often stranger (and more bloody) than fiction.

A couple of days later, and Mr O'Neill was explaining – badly – something he had (as usual) interpreted incorrectly from a teaching seminar he had just returned from.

Daria raised a hand before O'Neill could get to the assignment stage of the class.

“Yes Daria?”

“I want to clarify that failure isn't necessarily a bad thing provided we learn from the mistake and know not to repeat it,” Daria said.

O'Neill nodded, a bright smile on his face.

“But that we still shouldn't set out to fail at something on purpose,” Daria continued. “Because failing on purpose is something that is bad.”

The man's smile fell away. “Oh, you're... you're quite right,” O'Neill admitted, and his shoulders slumped. “Well... alright. Class, your assignment for this week is to pick a goal, something you _want_ to succeed at, but haven't yet. I want you all to try and make it a reality this week. Then, in a week, you'll give a report. If you succeeded, then say how and why. If you didn't, then I want you to include what you could do differently the _next_ time you try.”

Daria relaxed a little in her chair. She was all for leaving chaos in her wake, but she did it on purpose. O'Neill screwed people over with his good intentions, and she could only take so much of that before she felt the need to intervene.

“So, what goal are you aiming for this time?” Jane asked when they left class. “Art house again?”

“Not this time.  
“Well, then what?”

“Not where our peers can hear us Lane,” Daria answered.

Jane's eyes grew wide in her face. If Daria was being covert about it, then it was something she could potentially embarrass herself over. This was potentially a Big Deal.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“What goal are you going to try and achieve?” Daria asked.

“I'm going to try and sell some of my paintings,” Jane decided. “I'll take a bunch of the older ones that aren't that good and are just collecting dust to the flea market, see what I can get for 'em.”

“As long as you have them appropriately documented for your portfolio,” Daria cautioned.

“I do,” Jane agreed.

“And don't under-sell yourself. These are original works after all.”

“Gotcha. So, your house, my house, or the pizza place after school?”

“Yours.”

~lalaLAlala~

Daria and Jane arrived at Casa Lane only just long enough for Jane to park her bug in the garage before Tom showed up in _his_ heap, intent on taking Jane out for a burger and a movie.

“Um... I guess I'm not going to be moral support for this one,” Jane apologised. “Sorry _Amiga_.”

“That's fine,” Daria dismissed. “Really, the fewer witnesses to this attempt, the better I will feel.”

“If you're sure,” Jane said.  
“Absolutely certain,” Daria affirmed. “Go.”

“I'll see you later then,” Jane promised.

Daria nodded and let herself into the house. Without fanfare, Daria headed up to her room and picked up the undecorated six-string she had traded Jake's old hippie-painted one for. She pulled off her boots and sat, cross-legged, on her bed.

Daria fingered a light little melody, strummed a couple of chords, and then sighed. She got up from the bed again and set up the recording equipment, then, once she was settled comfortably again, she turned it on. She bit her lip as she played the introduction, then took a deep breath and quietly – but _directly_ into the microphone – she started to sing.

“We have dreams/ that we'll make come true/ not sure how/ but we'll see it through/ you're there for me/ I'm there for you/ we'll make our dreams come true,” she sang softly. “There'll be times/ I have no doubt/ folks will ask/ what we're on about/ but in the end/ it will all work out/ we'll make our dreams come true.”

Daria did her best to finger out the instrumental break on the six-string that she had originally worked out on the twelve-string, and then picked up the third verse.

“They might say/ we're doomed to fail/ that life is/ n't a fairy tale/ that the dreamer's/ boat has set sail/ but we'll make our dreams come true,” Daria cooed. “I don't know/ where our path may lead/ I don't know/ why I believe/ but you bring out/ the best in me/ together/ to/ gether/ we'll make our dreams come true/ we'll make our dreams come true/ yes we'll make our dreams come/ true.”

When the last chord had faded, Daria shifted to turn off the recording equipment, and started to put everything back in its place.

“I knew you had a nice voice,” Trent declared softly from the door.

“Eep!”

Trent chuckled lowly, amused but not mocking at all, and walked up to her. Tenderly, he kissed her cheek. “Can I ask what brought this on?” he queried.

“Assignment from O'Neill,” Daria answered. “Attempt to succeed at something we haven't before, no pressure if we fail though, provided we give a good report on how we'd do better next time. I figured... I'd try singing. Not in public but...”  
Trent nodded in understanding. “Hey,” he said gently as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to sit on the bed again. “You're good, but that doesn't mean you have to share your voice with the world.”

Daria relaxed into his hold and let a content smile past her defences. “Thank you Trent.”

“It was a good song too,” he added sincerely. “When did you write that one?”

“Some of it I wrote on the way to Alternapalooza, but I smoothed it out and turned it into what it is while you were in New York,” Daria admitted, as she snuggled a little closer and wrapped her arms around Trent's midriff and rested the side of her face against his shoulder. “What can I say? I missed you while you were gone.”

“I missed you when I was gone, too.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Hello? Anybody?” Jake called from the upstairs bathroom. “Please? Is anybody out there? Am I the only one left in the house?”

“If I help you with that first question, will you be able to handle the second on your own?” Daria countered when she had climbed the stairs and stopped outside the closed door.

“Daria! Thank God!” Jake exclaimed. “Your mother's at her work thing, and Quinn's at her school thing and... I thought I'd be stuck in here forever!”

“There's this knob on the door, you turn it -” Daria instructed slowly.

“No Kiddo, really. We're out of toilet paper,” Jake explained quickly.

“Oh. Well, I'll get some from the downstairs bathroom,” Daria offered.

“There isn't any there either,” Jake said before she'd gone more than two steps. “It's why I'm using this bathroom in the first place.”

“That was more information than I strictly needed to know,” Daria stated. “However, I _do_ register this as a genuine issue. Where's your wallet?”

“Um... why?” Jake asked.

“So I can grab money out of it to go and buy more toilet paper,” Daria answered. “And a little extra for me for performing this service.”

“Hall stand by the door, there's a fifty. All the change is yours if you make it back in fifteen minutes,” Jake promised.

“Done,” Daria agreed, and headed down to the laundry. Jake didn't know it, but Helen _did_ keep the house properly stocked with toilet paper. The extra rolls were kept in a small cupboard in the laundry. She'd still claim the fifty from Jake's wallet though, and depending on how low the supply was, she might actually go out and buy more.

Daria blinked at the sight that confronted her when she opened the cupboard. There was only _one_ roll left. It looked like she'd have to go out and buy more. But first, to rescue her father from the bathroom.

“Dad,” Daria called.

“Back already Kiddo?” Jake asked, impressed.

“Uh, yeah,” she lied. “There's a roll just outside the door,” she said, and set the toilet paper down, “and I'm going out.”

“Okay, thanks for this Daria,” Jake said sincerely.

Daria mumbled a reply and turned away from the bathroom before she would be forced to see Jake fumbling around for the roll without exposing himself. She, unfortunately, had some shopping to do.

~lalaLAlala~

“Next! Can I help you?” the cashier asked as Daria stepped up.

“No, I just came to enjoy your re-enactment of the fall of Saigon,” Daria answered.

“You mean the crowd? Well, what do you expect on Homecoming Night?” the woman asked as she scanned the packet of toilet paper through.

“Homecoming Night?” Daria repeated.

“Everyone in town is lining up to see the parade,” the woman pointed out with a smile.

Daria paid for the toilet paper, accepted her change, and hoped she'd be able to reach her car unmolested.

She _did_ manage that feat, and even got the toilet paper into the car, but then there was a tap on her shoulder and the the flash of a camera in her face.

“Ah!”

“You'll pay through the nose for _that_ shot, missy,” Jane informed her with a smile. “Unless you can give me a plausible reason for your being here.”

Daria reached back into her car and pulled out the packet of toilet paper for a brief moment of inspection. “We were out, and Dad offered me money to get more,” she explained.

“That works,” Jane allowed.

“Join me in escaping?” Daria offered as she tossed the toilet paper back into the car.

“Got a date,” Jane answered. “With a thoughtless delinquent.”

“You're meeting Tom _here_?” Daria asked, and locked up her car. Much as she couldn't care less for the Homecoming parade, this explanation, she wanted to hear – and unless she had a paintbrush in her hand, Jane rarely talked without walking at the same time.

“What better place than a high school homecoming to chronicle the anarchic death-spiral of western society?” Jane pointed out as she walked.

“So... your date consists of making fun of people,” Daria noted.

“If you must be all simplistic about it,” Jane agreed. “Oh look!” she exclaimed, and pointed to Brittany, leading the cheerleaders down the street. “I hope you have time for a cheer before you oh-so-sensibly run away.”

“She may have more pep than brains, but Brittany is a good friend,” Daria allowed with a sigh, and watched as the blonde led a cheer as she and her girls marched down the street behind the float that had the football players on it.

Football players who were throwing candy into the crowd as hard as they could, eliciting pained yelps and doubtlessly causing a few bruises.

“That's it,” Daria decided. “When the candy reaches escape velocity, it's time to leave.”

“Where _the hell_ is Tom?” Jane demanded. “He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago,” she complained, and crossed her arms over her camera.

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Daria recommended. “Just because he's a quarter of an hour late doesn't mean he's an inconsiderate jerk who will ultimately bring you nothing but misery,” she offered with bland sarcasm.

“I'm glad you're starting to warm to him,” Jane quipped back.

“My total apathy towards your boyfriend may be set aside to offer comfort to my best friend,” Daria explained with a shrug, and then looked around. “How the hell did we get so far from my car so quickly?”

“Um... whoops?”

“Look, I'm going to turn around and do my best to escape while I still can,” Daria stated.

“Good luck, Indiana Morgendorffer,” Jane bid.

Daria had only gone three steps when she heard someone crying, and as her morbid curiosity got the best of her, she looked around to see who it was. Surprise overtook her as she recognised the blubbering child.

“Tad?” Daria asked as she walked up to him.

“Daria? Oh Daria!” he exclaimed, and promptly latched onto her waist. “I'm scared!”

Daria lay a comforting hand on the kid's head, and looked out at the crowd and the parade floats that were rolling down the street. As it happened, a massive cat playing with a stupidly large ball of yarn was rolling by at that moment.

“So am I,” she muttered to herself. “Where are your mom and dad?” she asked.

“I don't know!” Tad answered. “I saw a windmill in the toy store window, so I went to look because they're such a clean source of energy, and when I turned around everyone was gone! Now I'm frightened I'll be stuck in this parade forever!”

“I know the feeling,” Daria agreed. “Alright. My car isn't far from here, and we might have better luck spotting your parents if we get up on the roof and look around,” she said, and offered the kid her hand to take. She didn't want to lose him in the crowd like his parents already had. It was quite terrifying enough for someone that small to have been lost once.

“Thank you Daria!” Tad cheered happily, and eagerly latched on to her hand.

Mercifully, Daria's Mini _wasn't_ far away, even if the crowds and the parade presently made it impossible for her to get it out of the parking spot and onto the streets.

“Okay,” Daria said. “Up you go,” she instructed, and lifted the seven-year-old up to the roof of her car. Thankfully, it was a _proper_ roof, not a soft-top, and would hold a good amount of weight. Including her weight when she climbed up there with him.

“Daria? What's your favourite part of the parade?” Tad asked as he looked out over the crowd at the floats.

“The drumstick,” Daria answered.

“I like the clowns!” Tad enthused.

“Of course you do. Keep looking for your parents.”

“I also like it when they throw candy from the floats!”

“Wait, what? I thought you said candy was poison?” Daria asked, willing to be impressed.

“It is,” Tad reaffirmed.

Well, she wasn't going to be impressed then.

“But every candy _I_ catch is a cavity some other kid won't have,” the little boy explained. “That's what makes it so rewarding! Daria, do you think _he'll_ be throwing candy from _his_ car?” Tad asked, and pointed to a bright pink Cadillac that was being driven by Upchuck.

“No,” Daria informed the boy flatly. “I think I can see your parents.”

“Really?!” Tad asked excitedly.

Daria pointed across the crowd to the familiar stretched faces of the senior Guptys.

“Mom! Dad!” Tad yelled out, and waved his arms to get their attention.

“Tad!” the three other Guptys yelled back, and hurried over.

“Oh, we were so worried about you!” Mrs Gupty said as Mr Gupty helped his son down from the roof of Daria's car.

“Thank you for staying with him Daria,” Mr Gupty added sincerely as he settled his son on his hip – Tad wouldn't be let down in any way that would permit his disappearance again any time soon. “I don't know how we can thank you.”

“Um... a written character reference would be appreciated,” she admitted as she slid down from her car roof. “For when I want to get a loan to start up my own business.”

“Oh how wonderful for you Daria, being so ambitious!” Mrs Gupty praised.

“What sort of business are you going to have Daria?” Tricia asked curiously as she tugged on Daria's jacket.

“I'm hoping to run an art house,” Daria answered. “A place where artists of various kinds can produce, exhibit, and sell their work.”

“That certainly is an excellent ambition,” Mr Gupty said with that slightly unnerving and vaguely plastic-looking (though still utterly sincere) smile of his. “And we'll be happy to write you a character reference as soon as we get home after the parade. I'll post it to you tomorrow morning Daria,” he promised.

“Thank you very much Mr Gupty.”

“Thanks for staying with me Daria,” Tad said.

“Yeah,” Tricia agreed. “Thanks for staying with my brother.”

“No problem,” Daria answered the kids. “It was the right thing to do.” Even _she_ had a conscience _sometimes_ after all, and she hadn't been about to leave a crying kid on his own in the street, especially not when she _knew_ the kid.

Daria looked around the area as the Guptys left to watch the parade, and decided that it was now possible to remove her car from its parking space and head home. Thank God it was a Mini. If it had been her dad's Lexus, she'd have never gotten it out. For that matter, if it had been the Lexus, she'd have never gotten it _in_ to that parking spot in the first place.


	31. Chapter 31

_Marriage is a good deal like a circus: there is not as much in it as is represented in the advertising._ \- Edgar Watson Howe

~lalaLAlala~

“I sense a worrying teen conspiracy afoot,” Jane commented to Daria in the hallways.

“No,” Daria answered. “Quinn's just obeying orders by inviting one person to sleep over this weekend. Three times.”

“And how will she explain the extra daughters to Jake and Helen?” Jane queried.

“They're going out of town this weekend,” Daria explained, “which is why Quinn is inviting her friends over, rather than accepting those concert tickets. Mind if I come over Saturday night? I'd rather not do time for _de-accessorising_ a teenage girl with my bare hands.”

“You've got a key and your own room _Amiga_ ,” Jane reminded Daria easily. “But I'm afraid I won't be there. Tom and I are going bowling with his friends on Saturday.”

“Oh.”

“You could tag along?” Jane offered.

“No, thank you.”

Jane smirked. “Of course, what _was_ I thinking? You'll have Casa Lane all to yourself and Trent,” she teased. “Maybe make some nookie?”

“You know perfectly well that Trent won't do anything that could be considered illegal with my person,” Daria reminded her friend sternly. “He's being very good, sweet, and gentlemanly about the whole thing. I don't want to do anything that would put a strain on his good intentions.”

Jane smiled. “You really are the best, you know that, right Daria?”

“Mm, thanks,” she mumbled.

~lalaLAlala~

“This conference is right near the museum of medical oddities,” Daria noted as she read through the brochure. “Dad? Would you mind swinging by the gift shop and getting me a skull-crusher?”

“Sure thing Kiddo!” Jake answered, and then his brain caught up with the request. “Skull-crusher? Ewww,” he said with a shudder. Still, at least it proved that he _was_ listening to what she'd said.

“Okay! I'll be there,” Helen said into the phone, and then added a “Damn!” as she hung up. “Well that's it. I _can't_ go to the conference,” Helen said unhappily. “The Porto-Frank class action suit is back on.”

“But Helen I need you!” Jake insisted. “Those tickets are non-refundable!”

“I'm sorry Jake, really I am,” Helen answered, “but the firm's counting on me. Tell you what, buy yourself a new set of clubs and think of me as you hit the ball,” she suggested, self-depreciatingly.

“God forbid _I_ should count on anyone!” Jake snapped.

“Dad,” Daria spoke up, “if I can stop off at the museum and check out their oddities, I'll go with you.”

Jake smiled. “You're on Kiddo!”

Helen smiled too. “That's very thoughtful of you Daria,” she said, truly appreciative. “I'll make sure there's a bonus in your allowance.”

Daria nodded, appreciative of that. Besides, with any luck, she'd be able to do a little networking of her own. She'd call Casa Lane as soon as Quinn got off the phone and let them know where she'd be – she'd also ask if they wanted any souvenirs.

~lalaLAlala~

Interesting fact about Jake Morgendorffer: he was afraid of heights. It made taking a plane a very nerve-wracking experience for him.

“We're all gonna die,” Jake moaned lowly almost as soon as the plane had levelled out after take-off.

“Statistically, not likely,” Daria answered, and then attempted a distraction. After all, focusing on the phobia wasn't conducive to getting through a prolonged exposure. “So Dad, about that business plan I hit you up for a while ago.”

“The non-specific one that could be generically applied?” Jake asked, latching on to the conversation like a drowning man latched on to a passing piece of floating driftwood.

“Yes,” Daria agreed. “Well, I've figured out what I want my business to be, more specifically.”

“That's _great_ Kiddo! And you wanted your old dad's advice on how to make it a success?” he guessed.

“Something like that,” Daria agreed. “See, I know that I'm going to need a building for this business, and I want it to be accessible, but not somewhere _too_ busy. I was thinking of buying a warehouse in Boston or New York and refitting it for my purposes.”

“It's a sound idea, depending on the refitting you want to do,” Jake agreed.

And Daria smiled to herself as her dad calmed down and got into the groove of solid, sensible business consultant who was trying to do his best by his little girl, and not just impress a client. It seemed that she had found something for them to discuss safely for the length of the flight.

In fact, the conversation was so involving that it only really broke for as long as it took for the concierge at the hotel to find their room, and then Jake was right back into it.

He didn't even notice when Jodie's parents showed up, and when they went down for 'drinks' before the reception, it was still going. And actually, that was the best sort of advertising Jake could have given himself – advising his genuinely interested daughter, and advising her _well_ , on how she could go about cutting her costs without cutting corners, getting top-quality results for minimum outlay, as she took careful notes.

“Didn't know you had it in you Jake,” said Andrew Landon, Jodie's father as he took a seat at the bar next to them.

Daria was taking advantage of the flat surface for her note-taking, and had a cola with ice while Jake had a gin.

“Dad isn't given enough credit or opportunity to really show what he's capable of,” Daria answered before Jake could. “What with all the people who only go to a business consultant because they want someone to kiss their butts and tell them how great their ideas are, but don't know how to find 'sycophant' in the phone book.”

“Damn lousy idiots,” Jake agreed darkly.

“That's quite the business plan you're working up Daria,” complimented Jodie's mother, Michele, as she read some of Daria's notes over her shoulder. “How long have you been working on it?”

“Well, after the last career aptitude tests at school, I hashed out a basic, generic business plan with Mom and Dad, but I didn't really know what I wanted to do. I've been thinking about it since then though, and slowly collating ideas and plans,” Daria answered. “But this specific work-up started as an attempt to distract Dad from his fear of heights on the plane flight here.”

“Wow,” Michele approved, then looked past Daria to Jake. “You do good work,” she praised with a genuine smile.

“Well, thanks!” Jake answered, just as genuinely cheered by the genuine bit of respect he'd just been shown. All around, it was a surprising amount of 'genuine' for one of these things.

~lalaLAlala~

“You want some milk Kiddo?” Jake offered the morning after they'd returned from the conference – the conference where he'd gained a large number of _good_ clients. Clients with _quality_ ideas who would pay _well_ for a business consultant to help them make their ideas a success, rather than pay a pittance for a sycophant.

“No thanks,” Daria answered. “Read the warning label. Contains tryptophan, highly relaxing, do not combine with high school.”

“I don't see that,” Jake said as he inspected the carton. “Does milk really relax you?”

“Actually, it's the endorphins that the tryptophan produces after consumption that relax you. Though, milk isn't so effective as a natural mood-elevator when diluted with three cups of coffee,” Quinn chipped in casually. She _was_ still studying extra to improve her chances of going to med school after graduating from high school. “Actually Daddy, caffeine should only be indulged in minimally anyway, for health reasons. Addiction to caffeine causes all _sorts_ of problems, and really, since you've already had one heart attack, you should be cutting back anyway.”

“Really?” Jake asked.

“Yup,” Daria answered, and smiled over at Quinn. “You have been hitting the books.”

“Dating seniors with exams and helping them study,” Quinn answered with a smirk of her own. “It keeps up my grades and my popularity rating at the same time.”

Jake poured his coffee down the sink and lifted the milk carton to his mouth, at which point he started to chug like a well-practised frat-boy. Then again, he had once attended a college that hosted a number of fraternity buildings, even if he hadn't actually been a member of any of them himself.

“You do appreciate that, next year, that policy means you'll be dating guys in my class, right?” Daria pointed out to Quinn.

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “Any guys I should watch out for?”

“I believe you already _know_ about Upchuck,” Daria answered flatly.

Quinn shuddered at the very suggestion. “The whole _school_ knows about Upchuck,” she quipped in disgust.

“Well, apart from him, Mack is permanently taken, and Kevin isn't worth your time,” Daria stated plainly. “Try Bob.”

“Bob?” Quinn repeated, confused. Was there a boy in the school who she _didn't_ know the name of?

“Green hair, nose-ring attached to his earring by a chain,” Daria elaborated.

“Oh _him_ ,” Quinn registered. “So _that's_ his name. Um, but isn't he, uh...”

“It may surprise you to learn, but he maintains a B plus average with the odd venture into A if the subject interests him,” Daria supplied.

“Well, my seven o'clock has been cancelled,” Helen declared as she walked into the kitchen, “so who wants a -”

The phone rang. Her seven o'clock was back on, and she was now late. Helen stormed out of the kitchen.

“What was that?” Quinn asked.

“Career obsession overriding the genuine desire to be a good mother,” Daria answered simply.

“Oh.”

“Wow,” Jake said with a lazy smile. “Tryptophan.”

“It shouldn't work like that,” Quinn said lowly, not certain about the reaction her father was having to _milk_ , and concerned.

Daria arched an eyebrow at Quinn. “Reaction enhanced by the placebo effect,” she quipped softly, not wanting Jake to hear.

“Oh. Right. Daddy _is_ rather open to suggestion.”

~lalaLAlala~

When Helen returned home that evening it was with news. Her boss was sending her – and the rest of them – to a retreat. On the firm's dollar.

“A spa?” Quinn asked as Helen set the lasagne on the table. Bought frozen. “Great! I need a facial _so_ bad,” she enthused.

“Don't get excited,” Daria advised as she accepted the book about the place. “This says its a 'spa for the soul', and didn't you _sell_ yours a while back?” she teased.

“Oh like you didn't,” Quinn countered with a smirk.

“Where's the milk?!” Jake demanded, and pushed away from the table.

“Relax Jake,” Helen advised. She'd missed the conversation that morning, and so didn't realise that was exactly what he was intending to do. “The firm is paying.”

“We exercise your inside instead of your outside,” Daria read. “Hmm, good, my pancreas could really use a workout.”

“Eew,” Quinn objected. “Seriously Daria? When we're about to _eat_? And really, what good is exercising when you can't even see the results?” she demanded.

“Quinn, this is about family togetherness,” Helen insisted. “ _We_ get to have fun, while _I_ get to show I'm partner material,” she explained, and handed out questionnaires.

“I see,” Daria quipped. “We're being graded on our family life. Gee, look at the time,” she added, and looked at where a watch would be on her wrist if she wore one. “Nineteen-eighty-four already.”

“Oh Daria, don't be silly,” Helen insisted as she took her seat. “Now, we have to fill out these questionnaires so I can fax them over,” she instructed as she passed one to Daria. “Isn't it nice that they want to get to know us before we arrive?”

“Sure,” Daria agreed. “So they'll know who to make into a drone, and who to just kill outright.”

“Jake, I could use some help here,” Helen requested.

Jake, unfortunately for her, was chugging from the milk carton again.

“What?” he asked when he lowered the carton.

“Why are you guzzling milk?” Helen asked lowly.

“Tryptophan,” Jake answered with a lazy, happy smile.

“What?” Helen asked.

“It's a naturally occurring anti-oxidant that releases endorphins that relax you,” Daria answered quickly.

“It's especially recommended for women, uh, _at that time of the month_ ,” Quinn added lowly, “but Daddy seems to be reacting well to its affects.”

“Especially since we _told_ him about these affects and advised he stop diluting his milk with coffee,” Daria finished. “There may be a little bit of placebo reaction, but Dad's found a way to achieve calm in an easy, quick, and healthy way.”

Helen sighed. “Alright,” she allowed. “Just... don't drink _all_ of it, and don't drink milk at the same time as you're driving. I don't want an accident because you weren't watching the road.”

“That's reasonable,” Jake agreed.

“Thank God,” Helen moaned.

~lalaLAlala~

“Which animal would you rather be?” Daria read off her questionnaire as she sat on Jane's bed.

Jane was fiddling with her new computer and web camera, and Trent was sitting on Jane's bed behind Daria, with his limbs wrapped comfortably around her and his head on her shoulder. After all, she was going away for the weekend. They wouldn't get to spend any time together at all for a couple of days. He had to get some extra snuggling in.

“A dog, a seal, or a lion?”

“A follower, an animal that is both prey _and_ predator in its food chain, or a big lazy cat with more reputation than it deserves,” Trent countered.

“None of the above,” Daria decided.

“How about a bat?” Jane offered.

“Bat isn't an option,” Daria pointed out.

“So write it in,” Jane suggested.

Daria shook her head. “I don't really want to be a bat, and the next question requests that you explain your choice.”

“So write in 'none of the above', and explain why,” Trent advised.

“That, I think I can do,” Daria agreed. “By the way, Jane? Why did you pick a bat?”

“I've always wanted to sleep upside down and spread rabies,” she answered with a wry smirk over her shoulder before she turned back to her computer and tapped a key decisively. “Okay world, meet Jane-cam. All Jane, all the time, well, except naked time,” she corrected.

“You don't even like having your picture taken,” Daria pointed out. “And now you're going to have strangers from all over the _world_ observing your every move?”

“It's a public service,” Jane declared. “If my mundane little life can somehow provide comfort to lonely web-trollers, then I'll know my time here on earth wasn't wasted.”

“Janey,” Trent said seriously. “I don't think you've properly thought about the kind of _comfort_ these lonely web-trollers would be taking, even if you're not including 'naked time'.”  
Jane's eyes widened in fear and seriously-creeped-out, and she hastily shut the camera off. “Okay, forget the Jane-cam then,” she decided.

“Probably for the best,” Daria agreed.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria had been careful to pack as many of her notebooks as she could fit into her bag. Well, the initial-stage ideas notebooks anyway, as well as her current notebooks. Upon admission to Quiet Ivy, she had quickly found herself a large, well-cushioned chair to curl up in and analyse some of her older ideas as they related to new ones. Sometimes, old ideas that hadn't worked out into anything at the time didn't come to full fruition until a great deal of time had elapsed.

“Hello Daria,” a voice greeted. “I'm your one-on-one counsellor.”

“Nice to meet you, Your One-On-One Counsellor, do you have a _real_ name?” Daria countered without looking up from her notebooks.

“Doctor Jean-Michel Millepieds. You know Daria, we often use humour as a barrier to prevent people from trying to get to close,” the doctor commented.

Daria looked up, and found that he had quite invaded her personal space. “It doesn't seem to have worked on you,” she noted.

“What are you trying to hide?” Jean-Michel asked.

“Well, these notebooks contain a few years worth of personal, extremely disjointed thoughts in their most raw state,” Daria stated as she closed up the books that she'd spread out around her. “I think that's something any person would have a right to keep private.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Daria, why don't we have a nice talk?” he requested.

“Because you haven't given me a signed confidentiality agreement yet,” Daria answered him candidly as she stacked her notebooks into her bag. “I feel no compunction to speak to a psychologist who isn't going to keep any secrets I may or may not choose to share in the strictest confidence.”

“That's fair,” Jean-Michel agreed once more. “If you would care to come to my office, I'll sign that confidentiality agreement for you, and then we can talk for a while, alright?”

Daria nodded, and zipped up her bag, all her notebooks accounted for. “Sure,” she agreed. “Might as well take advantage of having my own personal psychologist for the weekend, especially since Dad won't have to worry about the bill. I will give you _one_ thing for Mom's firm before you sign the agreement though.”

“Ah... Thank you...”

Daria still waited until they were in Jean-Michel's office before she spoke again.

“Mom's resentful because she has to work so hard, which obscures her guilt about actually _wanting_ to work so hard. Dad's guilty about being less driven than Mom, but thinks it's wrong to feel that way, so he hides behind a smokescreen of cluelessness and otherwise blames all his problems on his father. Quinn wears superficiality like a suit of armour, because _she's_ afraid of looking inside and finding absolutely nothing. She _has_ been getting better since Dad's heart-attack motivated her to study medicine though,” Daria reeled off. “And I'm so defensive that I actively work to make people dislike me so that I won't feel bad when they do – and now I'd like that confidentiality agreement please.”

Jean-Michel finished scribbling a last few notes, and then tore off that page of his notepad. He rose from his chair and moved to his desk, where he set that one sheet in the very middle of the expansive surface, and then withdrew a sheaf of papers from one of the drawers.

“Please read it over,” Jean-Michel advised as he passed her the printed pages. “There are a couple of places you'll have to sign as well, just to say you've approved the stipulations.”

“Okay then,” Daria agreed, and settled back to speed her way through. When she'd read everything, she pulled out a pen and signed where she had to, and then passed it back to Jean-Michel so that _he_ could sign where _he_ had to.

“Now, are you ready to _really_ talk to me?” Jean-Michel asked.

Daria looked over the contract one last time, checking that the doctor with the European accent had signed in all the right places, and finally nodded. “Yes,” she allowed.

“I'm glad. So, what do you _really_ want to talk about?”


	32. Chapter 32

_A sharp tongue is the only edged instrument that grows keener with constant use._ \- Washington Irving

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was once more staying over at Casa Lane. Daria had a great deal more subconscious issues than even she'd known about that had been dragged out of her by Jean-Michel, professional psychologist and employed head-shrinker of Quiet Ivy. Subconscious issues that needed to be translated into poetry and prose. In turn, the poetry really needed to be expressed through music so that she could continue to exorcise these inner demons any and every time they returned and attempted to rear their ugly heads. Which they did with greater frequency now that she consciously knew they were there.

Trent and Jesse were in the basement, working on putting together something new for the Spiral, and she was in her room on the first floor. At ground-level, between the two, Jane was working on a sculpture in the kitchen, and Tom was visiting to flirt with her while she worked. And for some reason, the rich boy was attempting to raid the Lane kitchen at the same time.

Eventually, he found something.

That something had been intended by Jane to add colour to her current art piece.

They had a rather large, and loud, blow-up about it before the boy was kicked out into the evening mists.

“Hey Daria?” Jane called half an hour later.

“Yes?” Daria answered warily.

“Want to come to that new warehouse store with me tomorrow morning?” Jane requested, poking her head through the door. “Tom ate my art supplies and the deadline for the art fair is closing in.”

“Sure,” Daria agreed neutrally. “It would probably be a good idea to stock up on bulk, non-perishable junk food, toilet paper, guitar strings and scented candles.”

“I followed your logic until that last one,” Jane stated.

“It's been a while since Casa Lane got power-cleaned, and the pizza boxes are stacking up again,” Daria explained.

“Oh, right, the stale cheese smell _could_ do with dispelling,” Jane allowed. “So you'll come?”

“I'll come.”

“Thanks Daria.”

“We're taking _your_ bug,” Daria added.

“Done.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Shoppers, it's twelve noon, and that means: the sample stations are open!” a voice announced over the store's PA system.

“Great, a feeding frenzy, and me without any chum,” Daria drawled.

“This could get ugly,” Jane stated.

“You're right,” Daria agreed. “I'll go back to aisle thirty and get some lounge chairs.”

“No time!” Jane countered unhappily. “We've been here for _two hours_ and still haven't found replacement art supplies, and I need to finish that statue or I'll miss the deadline for the art fair.”

“Alright then,” Daria said. “Well, the system we've been maintaining of going up and down each aisle in turn has gotten us roughly half-way through the warehouse in two hours. We've found the toilet paper and laundry detergent -”

“Which wasn't on your list of things to get, though I recognise it as something we _do_ need,” Jane quipped.

“This leaves us still looking for scented candles, guitar strings, non-perishable junk food, and the reason we even ventured here in the first place,” Daria listed off. “When is your deadline?”

“Five this evening.”

“Well, if we keep moving at a steady pace, we _should_ find everything and be out of here by four,” Daria offered. “Will that be enough time?”

“I'd rather we were out of here before then,” Jane admitted. “Safety net, you know? But I can work it if I have to,” she allowed.

“Right, then we'll pick up the pace a little,” Daria agreed, and started pushing the cart a little bit faster.

“Wow,” Jane exclaimed when they turned down the next aisle. “This is exactly what I was looking for.”

“Gummy bears?” Daria asked. “No, never mind. My theory that you can and will use anything as art supplies is once again proven.”

“You melt these babies down in a microwave and they turn into an _incredible_ stain-glass-like mosaic,” Jane explained as she set a couple of party-sized bags into the cart. “The goop also works as a killer adhesive.”

“Well,” Daria said as she set the cart moving forward once again, casually loading other varieties of junk food into the cart as they rolled. “It now makes more sense as to _why_ Tom ate your art supplies. I didn't think he was really the sort to eat paint. Did he _know_ they were art supplies when he ate them?”

“Um...” Jane hesitated. “They were on a bowl on the kitchen counter, and I may have neglected to tell him that they were for my art project,” she admitted. “I don't have a leg to stand on, do I?”

“He helped himself to food that wasn't his, in a kitchen not his own, without asking first,” Daria stated, being the supportive friend. “You're only down _one_ leg, Stumpy, since it _was_ food in a place of food, and not clearly marked as art supplies.”

Jane's smile returned, just a little bit. “Thanks _Amiga_ ,” she said softly.

“And hey, if you want to take your gummy bears and run, then I don't mind,” Daria offered. “Just be back by four to pick me up. I'm _not_ carrying all _this_ back to Casa Lane.”

“You got a deal,” Jane agreed, and pulled her bags of gummy bears out of the cart. “Thanks again Daria.”

“Yeah yeah, go. You've got a deadline.”

“Gone,” Jane agreed, and did that _other_ thing that she did better than anybody else in Lawndale: she ran.

~lalaLAlala~

“One of those square headlights might look kinda cool,” a familiar voice said as Daria turned her cart down another aisle.  
“Hmm, might not fit my car,” countered another, even more familiar voice.

“ _Might_ not?” joined in a third voice that Daria had most recently heard at high volume through several walls the previous night. “Trent, what's the year and model-number of your headlight?”

“Hmm... I bet that's important,” Trent said.

Daria smirked as she spotted the scowl on Tommy-boy's face, but hastily smoothed the expression away as she reached them.

“Fancy seeing _you_ three here,” she commented.

“Hey Daria,” Trent greeted.

“Hey,” Jesse added.

“Hi,” Tom agreed. “Um, isn't Jane with you?”

“If you're lucky, she _might_ still be in the line at the check-out,” Daria answered as she brushed passed him and pulled down the right headlight for Trent's Plymouth.

Trent knew the type he needed, Jesse knew the type he needed, and she knew that they both knew, but they'd enjoyed rubbing Tom the wrong way, she could tell. That she picked the headlight Trent needed would also serve to further annoy Tom because, as far as he knew, she'd barely had occasion to ride in the Plymouth. After all, she had her own car. He, on the other hand, had most likely caught a ride to the warehouse store with Trent and Jesse, and hadn't paid the least bit of attention to the car he'd been riding in.

“And if she _is_ still in line at the check-out, tell her I'll get a lift back to Casa Lane with Trent and Jesse, so she doesn't need to come back at four to pick me up,” Daria added.

Tom grit his teeth in frustration and bolted.

“Nicely done Daria,” Trent complimented.

“Yeah,” Jesse agreed. “That guy is way too uptight. I don't know what Jane sees in him.”

“She thinks he's funny and cute, and he has yet to prove himself to be dead-beat, brain-dead, a jerk, or a snob,” Daria summarised with a shrug. “I really think that's it.”

~lalaLAlala~

Daria didn't particularly feel like spending another hour going up and down the aisles looking for the last thing on her shopping list – guitar strings – only to find out the store didn't stock them, and instead opted to tap one of the staff on the shoulder and asked.

“Andrea?” Daria asked, recognising one of her classmates beneath the red apron and cap.

“Well, go on,” the girl said. “Make fun of the pathetic Goth chick who's parents make her work at a crappy job in a stupid warehouse store. Go on!” she bid with a grand gesture. “Cut me up like you do everyone else!”

“I just wanted to know if this place stocks guitar strings,” Daria said plainly.

“Guitar strings?” Andrea repeated, surprised. “Oh, right, yeah. I've seen you playing at the Zon,” she said, then noticed the two guys standing just behind Daria. “Um...” she started, and raised a hand to point at them.

“Yes,” Daria agreed. “These guys are Trent and Jesse, of the Spiral,” she presented.

“Hi,” Jesse greeted with a wave.

Trent just nodded silently.

“Um...” Andrea hesitated, then reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a CD walkman that, interestingly enough, had Spiral's first (and so far _only_ single) _The Tank_ in it. “Could I have your autographs?” she requested sheepishly.

Trent chuckled. “Sure,” he agreed. “If you got a pen.”

“I do!” Andrea answered quickly, and grabbed the permanent marker she'd been writing out prices with.

“Cool,” Jesse said as he accepted it. “No one's ever asked for our autographs before.”

“Guitar strings?” Daria requested quietly while Trent and Jesse popped open the CD walkman so they could sign the disc.

“Guitar strings are in aisle one-sixty-four-D,” Andrea answered, vaguely on auto-pilot as she watched her copy of _The Tank_ get signed by two of the band who performed it.

“Thanks,” Daria replied. “Also, I never saw you here. In fact, we never saw each other.”

Andrea looked away from Trent and Jesse to stare at Daria a moment. Then she smiled. “Thanks Daria,” she said.

“No problem.”

With everything they'd come for (and a couple of things extra) finally in the cart, they headed for the checkouts. They'd only just joined the line when all the lights, and apparently all the power in the whole of the warehouse, went out.

“Huh,” Trent noted. “Daria? Jesse?”

“I am still firmly attached to the cart,” Daria answered.

“I'm gonna sit down,” Jesse added, and there was a slight rustling in the darkness as he suited actions to words. “Can't get lost if I'm not even on my feet to wander.”

“Actually, that's a good plan,” Trent agreed. “Now... That your hand, Daria?”

“Judging by the number of rings and guitar-callouses on the hand currently covering mine, I'm going to say yes,” Daria replied.

“Don't want to lose you in the dark,” Trent said.

Then Daria felt another hand, a match to the first, cover her wrist, and then trail up her arm to her neck, and a chin with a familiar little soul-patch of beard nuzzled in to the other side.

“For just a little while, no one can see _anything_ ,” Trent whispered in her ear.

“The lights _will_ come on at exactly the wrong time,” Daria warned softly, even though she was thoroughly enjoying the attention.

Trent groaned at the denial, and scraped his lips over Daria's neck. Nothing that would leave a mark, well, not a _physical_ mark anyway. “I'm gonna need a cold shower when we get home.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself,” Daria answered lowly, as a heat rose on her cheeks that she was sure, if the lights had been on, would have proven to be a very bright blush. “I'll definitely give you that.”


	33. Chapter 33

_Most beautiful but dumb girls think they are smart and get away with it, because other people, on the whole, aren't much smarter._ \- Louise Brooks

~lalaLAlala~

It was rare, but occasionally Daria and Jane elected to hang out at the Morgendorffer residence rather than Casa Lane. These occasions usually happened when the Spiral was arranging a new song in the basement. A process which, more often than it had used to, led to loud fights between Nick and Max.

Daria and Jane had been enjoying a quiet afternoon of watching _Sick Sad World_ when Jake started yelling at his car in the driveway.

“Come on! Start! Move! You're a car! That's what you do! That's _all_ you do! Now _do_ it!”

“Ah,” Daria began archly. “The eternal struggle between man and machine.”

Jane smirked as she accepted the feed. “And this time, it's personal,” she finished.

At Daria's side, the phone rang. Neither Helen or Quinn were in the house though, so she deigned to answer it, even as she heard Jake inform the car that it was, quote, 'a damn radio with doors'.

“Dad is playing with his inner child in the driveway,” Daria informed her dear little sister who was on the other end of the line.

“But he was supposed to pick us up at the mall,” Quinn said.

“He's discussing that with the car right now,” Daria answered. “Unfortunately, the car doesn't much like that idea.”

“Don't tell me it broke down before it even got to the curb,” Quinn begged, though she was more or less resigned to the concept even as she said it.

“Alright, I won't tell you,” Daria agreed.

Quinn sighed down the line. “Alright, I know _your_ car is small, but your friend came over today with hers too, right?” she asked. “I'll give you fifty _each_ if you'll come and get us.”

“I'll check with Jane,” Daria replied.

“Check with me what?” Jane queried.

“Quinn's willing to pay us fifty each to come and get her and the Fashion Drones, both our cars so that we can fit their shopping as well,” Daria explained.

“Deal,” Jane agreed. “The gas to get there and back won't cost that much, and another fifty cash is always handy.”

“You're on,” Daria told Quinn. “Just have the cash when we get there.”  
“Agreed. And Daria? Don't be long? It's kinda creepy out here in the parking lot when all the lights start going out,” Quinn admitted quietly.

“Be right there,” Daria agreed, and hung up. “Let's go.”

“I can't believe you're actually doing something vaguely nice for your sister,” Jane quipped as she followed Daria out the front door.

“If she can grow up, then I can too,” Daria answered her friend. “And since Dad's heart-attack, Quinn _has_ been growing up.”

“Going somewhere Kiddo?” Jake asked as Daria climbed into her Mini.

“Quinn called,” Daria stated, “and even from inside I could hear the issues you were having with the car. We're going to pick her and her friends up.”

“Thanks Kiddo,” he said. “And you too Jane.”

“No problem,” Jane agreed.

“I'll have dinner ready when you all get back!” Jake promised.

“Thanks Mr Morgendorffer!” Jane answered with a cheerful grin. Her home may have had the benefits of complete freedom, however, the Morgendorffer house had _food_. Actual food, not just junk food and crackers. It was frozen lasagne more often than not, but it was still better than what was generally on offer for dinner at Casa Lane.

“Thanks for coming for us Daria,” Quinn said a couple of hours later, when it was just the two sisters left of all the teenagers that had been in the house at dinner time. “Really.”

“All public relations to the contrary, you are still my sister, and I do still care about you,” Daria said simply. “I do suggest you get your licence fairly soon though. Then you'll be able to do your own driving, and you won't have to wait for me, Mom, or Dad to give you a lift.”

Quinn nodded. “This coming summer,” she promised. “When I don't have so much homework to worry about.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Why the long face?” Daria asked Trent as she slid her arms around his shoulders. She and Jane had agreed to race each other back to Casa Lane, just for the hell of it. Daria in her Mini, and Jane running. Daria had won, but Jane was due to bust through those doors any minute now.

She wasn't all that good at or used to physical anything, but Trent had been teaching her, and she had always been a quick study. Any time she'd been feeling a bit low, he offered physical contact, and it had been appreciated. Now, it was her turn to be supportive and comforting, so she offered physical comfort.

“Spiral has a gig,” Trent answered.  
“Well, that's _good_ , isn't it?” Daria asked.

“It's a high school party,” Trent explained, and shuddered a little. “Ugh. Makes me feel like _I'm_ back in high school.”

“The Taylors?” Daria guessed. A little earlier that day, Brittany had invited the whole class to a party to celebrate her C minus average, and promised a live band. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “How'd you know?”

“Brittany invited the whole class,” Daria answered. “Very possibly the whole school.”

“So... you'll be there?” Trent asked hopefully.

Daria smiled. “Brittany is someone I have come to classify as a friend, even if I don't really like parties, and it sounds like you need moral support, so yes. I'll be there,” she said, “and I'm sure Jane will be too, since she actually _likes_ going to parties.”

Trent sagged a bit as some of the stress left him. “Thanks Daria. Um... could you help me write a song for her? Mr Taylor wanted us to write a song celebrating Brittany's achievement, and Max's contribution to the lyrics is...”

“Second set material?” Daria supplied with delicate understanding.

“Yeah.”

“I'll help,” Daria agreed, and unwrapped her arms from around Trent's shoulders so that she could slide onto the kitchen chair beside him. “ _And_ I'll help you guys set-up and sound check.”

Trent smiled back at her gratefully. “Thanks Daria. Really.”

~lalaLAlala~

“I'm really glad you're going Daria,” Jane declared when she got her friend up into her room to watch _Sick Sad World_.

“Let me guess, _Tom_ is out of town,” Daria quipped.

“For a week,” Jane agreed. “But I'm also glad you're going to be there for Trent's sake, not just mine.”

“Hold your horses,” Daria warned. “I'm _also_ going for _Brittany's_ sake.”

Jane blinked in shock. “You're braving a party that's going to be full of popular people who you don't even like for _Brittany_?” she asked, stunned. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with the _real_ Daria?”

Daria sighed. “Look, if Brittany can show up to my hospital room when I'm sick, then I can show up to a party to celebrate her C average,” she explained. Brittany was one of those rare few Daria counted as a friend. Maybe she wasn't all that bright, but she _did_ care about people.

~lalaLAlala~

“Sound check,” Trent requested.

Daria slowly pushed the slides on the sound board up, keeping an eye on the fancy and expensive looking glasses in the cabinet near where they'd set up the amps.

“Start it at full volume!” Max insisted. “Then bring it down until we don't have feedback!”

“No way,” Daria countered firmly. “That works at McGrundy's and the Zon, but I'm not paying for all the expensive crystal glasses that would break,” she said, and pointed to the cabinet she'd been keeping an eye on.

The band all followed her finger and winced. Yeah, they couldn't afford to replace those either.

“I'll go up until they start to vibrate, and then pull back a little,” Daria said. “That should keep it safe and _not_ cost you guys a replacement fee.”

“Thanks Daria,” Jesse offered sincerely.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “You're always lookin' out for us.”

“If any of you tell anybody that I care, ever, I will deny it,” she informed them with a slight smile.

“Hey Daria,” Brittany greeted with a smile as she bounced over. “You're here early.”

“I'm helping out the band with their sound check,” Daria explained.

“Wow,” Brittany exclaimed. “You really _are_ smart, to understand all these dials and thingies.”

“Speaking of, congratulations on you C average,” Daria offered.

“Thanks! Not going out with Kevin has made getting good grades a lot easier for some reason,” Brittany said.

“I always suspected that idiocy was infectious,” Daria quipped lowly with a smirk.

“Daria!” Brittany exclaimed. “That's not very nice.”

“No,” Daria agreed. “But I don't do 'nice' very well.”

Brittany sighed. “You can Daria,” she said seriously. “I know you can. It just... takes you a bit more effort. So... thanks, for coming tonight, but more for being my friend and stuff.”

“It really isn't such a hardship,” Daria allowed. “Now go on, I'm sure you've still got more bunting to put up. By the way, I didn't know you had an older sister.”

“Huh?” Brittany asked, confused.

Daria pointed to another blonde young woman that was just fixing some balloons.

“Oh, no, that's my step-mother Ashley-Amber,” Brittany explained. “She's great!”

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey, we're the Spiral, here to celebrate Brittany Taylor's C average. We'll get with the music in a moment, but there's a couple of proud parents that want to make a presentation first,” Trent announced into the microphone, then stepped back.

“Hey kids, we have a little present for Brittany,” the man said with a grin as he took the microphone. “To show her how proud we are. Bring it out, Ashley-Amber!”

The slightly older blonde bombshell that really _did_ look more like Brittany's sister than her mother (or even step-mother) stepped up with a brown case and held it out to her husband.

“Brittany, Honey, this is for you,” Mr Taylor said, and opened the case towards the girl.

“Oh, Daddy, _thank you_!” Brittany squeaked happily, and withdrew, of all things, a _crystal bullhorn_ from the padded case. Brittany smiled widely, raised it to her lips and yelled out (not into the microphone, thank goodness) “Let's party!”

Brittany carefully replaced the bullhorn into the case, where it would be safe, and the Taylors stepped away from all the amplifiers so that the band could start to play.

“Nicely said,” Trent agreed. “Well, we wrote a song specially for this party, so here it is: _Cool Kitty_.”

Max clacked his drumsticks together, counting out the beat, and Nick led off with a good bass riff.

“Seriously?” Jane asked as Jesse's guitar joined in.

“It's better than the working title,” Daria admitted with a shrug. “It _used_ to be called _C works for me_.”

The song was essentially a grunge-rock ode to a girl who knew how good she was, and used a lot of words that began with C to describe her.

“And just like a cat/ she knows she's all that/ when I want her to look my way/ she proves she's too cool/ got her C average from school/ then she says one thing that makes my day/” Trent sang.

The whole band paused.

“Meow,” Trent said lowly into the microphone. A few more chords were shot out before they hit silence again, and Trent repeated, “Meow.” There was one more “Meow”, and then the song finished with all the members of the band yelling out “Cool cat baby! Meow!”

“That was a _really_ great song,” Brittany said with a truly pleased smile as she joined Jane and Daria. “The band really wrote it just for me?”

“Well, Trent and I did,” Daria corrected, and did a quick fiddle with the computer that the sound board was connected to. A CD popped out. “Here,” she said as she put the disc into a case. “The live recording of the first ever performance of the song that was written for you. All yours.”

“Wow!” Brittany exclaimed, impressed, as she accepted it. “Thanks Daria! See? I _told_ you that you could be nice.”

“Well, you're a friend,” Daria allowed. “I make a special effort to be nicer than usual for friends.”

“She really does,” Jane confirmed with a fond smile of her own. “Daria lets me get away with a lot of stuff that she wouldn't if I weren't her friend.”

“And don't you forget it,” Daria said with a nod.


	34. Chapter 34

_Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans._ \- John Lennon

~lalaLAlala~

The phone of Casa Lane rang around about midnight. Fortunately, it was a night when people were still awake being creative, rather than sleeping like the boring people who counted as normative members of society.

“You've reached the Lane all-night hotline, which hottie can I direct you to?” Jane asked as she slipped the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she continued to paint.

“ _Jane? I'm sorry to be calling so late, but is Daria there?”_ Helen asked desperately.

“Oh sure,” Jane agreed easily. “Not sure if she's still up or if she's fallen asleep over her notebook, but she's here.”

“ _Oh thank_ God _,”_ Helen exclaimed, relieved. _“The house is on fire and we couldn't find her anywhere. We were so worried until Quinn suggested I call you.”_

“Your _house_ is on _fire_?” Jane repeated, shocked.

“ _Yes,”_ Helen answered unhappily. _“Jake left paper towels near an open flame.”_

“Right...”

“ _Would it be alright with your parents if Daria stayed with you while we get the house fixed up?”_ Helen asked hopefully. _“Oh, wait, no. Trent owns the house, doesn't he?”_

“Trent won't mind,” Jane said. “And if Mom weren't out in the desert getting inspired and finding new clays for her pottery, then she wouldn't mind either. Daria doesn't exactly have much stuff here though...”

“ _And there's no telling how much damage the fire caused before the firemen got here, or how much damage was caused_ by _the fire brigade, for that matter,”_ Helen said with a sigh. _“If you and Daria could come over tomorrow morning, collect up as much of Daria's things as you could? Daria can have my Green Card as well, to replace anything that was badly damaged.”_

Jane smirked. She had a pretty good idea what sort of things Daria would do with a Green Card.

“Sure,” she agreed. “We'll probably be there around ten tomorrow.”

“ _Thank you Jane.”_

Jane hung up the phone, put aside her paints, and headed out into the hall, aiming for Daria's room.

She knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open.

Daria was sitting on her bed, hunched over an open notebook, but her hands were slack at her sides and her glasses were sliding down her face.

Jane smiled a little sadly to herself, and entered the room. She shifted Daria's notebook, pen, and glasses to the bedside table, carefully tugged off her boots, and tucked her in. It wasn't a hard decision to let Daria sleep. The shocking news could wait until morning.

Jane then headed back to her own room and made sure she set her alarm clock. She had to be up in the morning to talk to her  _ amiga _ after all, and she wasn't at all sure how it would go over.

~lalaLAlala~

With great solemnity, Daria collected enough socks and underwear to get her through staying at Casa Lane until her parents' house was fixed up. She kept a toothbrush at the Lanes', and as she'd been there the previous night, she also already had her pyjamas and her guitars there.

She also packed up her computer (which had some smoke damage), her books (also smelling strongly of smoke, some worse than others, but thankfully none of them were any worse off than that), her bone collection (fine), her various other little bits and pieces (mostly fine), and... the few articles of clothing that hung in her wardrobe (one pair baggy jeans, one black t-shirt, the two dresses Jane had made for her, and the dress she wore to Erin's wedding).

The only other thing she had to collect from her room was the small safe that she kept her 'Montana Cabin Fund' in. Actually, the words 'Montana Cabin' had been crossed out and replaced by 'New York Penthouse' a while ago, and more recently had been simplified to 'Property'. Whether she'd be buying somewhere to live or somewhere to open her art house, Daria wasn't entirely sure any more, though she did hope she'd be able to afford both. Inside the safe was cash, exclusively, and it was clearly time to move her savings to Casa Lane.

“Need any help?” Trent offered when Daria returned from salvaging her belongings from her parent's house.

“Only if you want to,” Daria answered with a grateful smile as she pulled her little safe out of the passenger seat. “The vaguely fragile stuff is on the back seat, the rest is pretty much indestructible, apart from the smoke-damaged computer, which is in the trunk.”

“Is it gonna be okay?” Trent asked as he stepped up to pull a the re-boxed computer out of the Mini's trunk.

“It won't be the same,” Daria admitted. “But I should be able to get something for it at the flea market, and Mom gave me her Green Card, to replace anything damaged by the fire.”

“Cool,” Trent admired with a smirk.

“Occasionally, Helen and Jake can be,” Daria agreed with a smile.

“ _Amiga_!” Jane called as she ran out of the house. Daria had asked her _not_ to come and help her pack up her stuff. “How bad was it?”

“Most of the serious damage was contained to the kitchen,” Daria answered. “But my computer got smoked. Few of my books too.”

Jane dragged a suitcase off the roof of the Mini and followed her friend and her brother back up to the house. “I'm just glad that _you're_ not smoke-damaged,” she said firmly.

“Agreed,” Trent added.

~lalaLAlala~

“My heart is like an open wound/ that reads the tea-leaves of its doom/ soothe me with redemption's love/ like a heat-proof kitchen glove,” Trent read out from one of his old notebooks, and chuckled to himself. That was a while ago. He'd written it back when he'd first really noticed Daria – as much as he had denied the attraction – but was still in that regular on-again, off-again relationship with Monique.

Well, he'd set that song on the shelf, just like he'd said he would, and now he had a better idea of where he was going.

And it wasn't going to be a song about, as Daria had described it, 'pre-emptive heartbreak'.

“Thought I was walking/ towards my doom/ and my heart ached/ like an open wound/ I poisoned myself/ with careless lies/ never believed/ anyone would try/ stuck in a rut/ repeating/ repeating/ repeating over again/” Trent muttered to himself, writing as he went.

It was going to take more work to be a proper song, but it wasn't bad for a first verse.

The call of the doorbell broke his concentration, though thankfully Jane called out that she would answer it, so he didn't have to. Trent decided to get out of the basement, and possibly even get out of the house entirely for a while. Daria should be about done unpacking her stuff. Maybe they'd go to the mall together, check out what her options were for replacing her computer.

Trent knocked on Daria's door.

“Hey,” she greeted with a small smile and waved him in.

“Hey,” he answered, and smiled back. “You unpacked?”

“Yeah,” Daria agreed with a nod. “Everything but my bone collection, and that stays in its box most of the time anyway.”

“Cool,” Trent said with a smirk. “So... want to go out?” he suggested. “We could check out computers, get pizza?”

Daria's small smile grew. “Sure,” she agreed, and stood. “Just let me find Helen's Green Card.”

Trent nodded. “I'll grab my keys, unless you'd rather we took your car?” he suggested.

Daria shook her head as she scanned the room for where she'd left that slice of plastic. “We can take your Plymouth to the mechanic while we're there,” she suggested. “Find out how much fixing up the important stuff would cost you.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Trent agreed. “Can't have a car that breaks down all the time when we leave Lawndale behind.”

“You know Jane would be happy to do the bodywork,” Daria pointed out as she spotted the card and slipped it into her pocket. “It's really just the engine that's the issue. Probably.”

Trent nodded, and the two of them headed downstairs.

It turned out that it had been Tom at the door, and the couple were settled on the couch with a newspaper, discussing movie options.

“How about _Screecher Two_?” Jane suggested. “I heard those blood-sucking eyeballs look really cool when they burst.”

“Actually, I'm...” Tom hesitated, and then spoke quickly, like saying it quicker would make it less painful to say, as though words and ripping off band-aids had anything in common. “Kind of in the mood for a movie with a plot.”

“ _Screecher Two_ ,” Daria cut in, “ _does_ have a plot. It's just not very involved.”

“Ha!” Jane decried in triumph.

“Alternatively, there's _La Dolce Vita_ ,” Daria offered. “An Italian comedic drama with extravagant costumes that was banned by the Pope when it came out.”

Jane smirked. “It certainly sounds like it has promise,” she allowed. “Tom?”

“Sure!” he agreed more eagerly. “What about you guys?” he asked, and the question was clearly directed at Daria and Trent. “Want to come?”

“Can't,” Trent answered shortly. “Plans,” he added as explanation as he headed out the door.

“You two crazy kids have fun now,” Daria advised.

“No you,” Jane quipped back with a pleased smirk. She really was thrilled for Daria and Trent, and as they couldn't officially get together as a couple until Daria's next birthday, the excitement for them finally _getting_ together hadn't worn off yet. “And get something _good_ with Helen's plastic.”

“Anything for you?” Daria asked. “More gummy bears, perhaps?”

Tom winced a little at the reminder.

Jane smirked. “Ten yards of white silk and a new sketch pad would be appreciated,” she replied saucily.

“You don't need ten yards of white silk,” Daria stated flatly. “And even if you did, I can't think how I'd justify that to my mother when the bill comes back, since it's _her_ Green Card.”

“Oh fine, just the new sketch pad then,” Jane acquiesced.

“Done,” Daria agreed, and followed Trent out of Casa Lane.

~lalaLAlala~

“I don't care who is raving about them, or how colourful they are, I am _not_ going to buy an iMac,” Daria said firmly as she and Trent considered the options for a new computer. “Jane's has already proven incompatible with a lot of the software she wants to use.”  
“Fair enough,” Trent agreed.

Daria ended up choosing a big, black Dell, as well as picked out some extra software to go with it, and even grabbed an art program for Jane's iMac that she was pretty sure her friend didn't have. If Jane _did_ have that piece of software, then she could bring it and the receipt back to the store and trade it for something else.

Daria made sure of it.

“Alright, where to next?” Trent asked with a smile.

Daria's new computer and software were in a cart, bagged and boxed and ready to be loaded into his car, but the car was at the mechanic attached to the mall, getting looked over – it was an assessment, not a detailing. The man would give them a list of things that needed to be fixed, and a quote when they got back. The assessment alone was going to set Trent back twenty.

“Jane wants a new sketchpad,” Daria said, and pointed to a book store.

“Daria... I can't go into a book store,” Trent stated. “I just... can't.”

Daria gently tugged him (and the cart) over to a bench, and made him sit down.

“You don't have to,” she told him gently. “I'd like to know why, but I'm not going to force you to tell me, and I'm not going to force you to go in.”

“It's embarrassing,” Trent admitted in a whisper as he hunched over himself. “I... Daria, did Janey or I ever tell you that I lived in a tent in the back yard for six months?”

“It isn't a story I've heard yet.”

“Jane brought me sandwiches,” Trent said. “But... I was just waiting for someone to invite me back into the house. Six months, and no one did. No one in my family really cared. In the end, Janey asked me to come inside so she wouldn't have to wade through the snow to the tent,” Trent expounded. “It wasn't what I'd been hoping for, but after six months... I figured it was the closest I was going to get.”

Daria wrapped her arms around Trent's shoulders and held him for a moment.

“Back then, most of the family was still living at home. Any one could have invited me in, but none of them cared to,” Trent continued.

“I don't see what that has to do with you not being able to go into a book store,” Daria admitted softly, though she continued to hold him.

“I did a lot of reading in those six months,” Trent answered. “I spent a lot of time at the book store. Now... it reminds me of that time,” he admitted.

Daria smiled softly in understanding and gave Trent a gentle squeeze. “So let's make a _new_ memory,” she suggested. “You're not alone in a tent any more. If you _do_ set up a tent in the yard though, I'll be right there to make sure you're not lonely.”

Trent smiled at that, a saucy, roguish, _suggestive_ smile, and brought up a ring-covered hand to squeeze one of Daria's in gratitude.

“Alright,” he agreed.

Daria smiled back, a blush on her cheeks, and stood from the bench.

She took hold of the cart, and Trent stepped up behind her, arms wrapping around her so that _he_ could steer the cart _and_ sort-of embrace her at the same time. It made walking a bit awkward, but it was cosy and comforting, and that was what Trent needed as they headed into the book store.

“Pizza?” Trent suggested when they left the book store, an hour later.

“Sure,” Daria agreed.

They had Jane's new sketch book, two new note books, and a shiny new copy of a book called _Auto Repairs for Dummies_. Neither one of them was stupid, and really, Kevin (the ultimate dummy) wouldn't have understood what the book was saying (it wasn't actually a book for dummies, whatever the title claimed). Still, it was a book that explained everything in a basic, easy-to-understand manner, and would be _very_ helpful with three cars to maintain on a less-than-forgiving budget.

Still taking advantage of Helen's Green Card, Daria paid for their pizza. It was Trent's turn to pay, but he let her get away with it this time, since, technically, Daria wasn't the one who was actually paying either.

“How did you get Jesse and Jane to agree to do your book shopping for you?” Daria asked as she set the sodas down on their table – Trent had claimed the space and guarded the cart.

“Janey and Jesse were _there for me_ at the time,” Trent explained. “Janey didn't really get what was going on, but Jess did.”

Daria nodded in understanding. “Okay.”

“Hey,” Trent called softly.

Daria looked up at him.

“Thanks Daria,” he said. “Really. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Daria blushed a little as she smiled back. They'd found a secluded corner at the back of the store and shared their first _proper_ kiss. It had been chaste – they _were_ in a public place and Daria's eighteenth was still a ways off yet – but it had still been pretty special.

Jane, Tom, and Tom's dangerous car, were all gone from Casa Lane when they returned.


	35. Chapter 35

_Animals are not as stupid as one thinks – they have neither doctors nor lawyers._ \- L. Docquier

~lalaLAlala~

“How was the movie?” Daria asked Jane the next day, after first period, allowing for her friend to properly wake up.

“I've got to give their costume team credit,” Jane answered, “and I enjoyed it while I was watching it, but afterwards Tom just rambled on an on about the symbolism that the director used, which was boring, and then he got pissed that I wasn't offering an opinion or finding the topic of conversation stimulating.”

“Doesn't that boy know that it's the symbolism recognised by the masses that are more entertaining?” Daria quipped.

“Exactly!” Jane declared. “Like, comparing the character Marcello to Kevin.”

“Or the many women in the film to members of the Fashion Club,” Daria returned. “And watching a dead fish wash up on shore always puts _me_ in a good mood.”

“By the way, thanks for the new software,” Jane said. “I assume that was from you, not Trent.”

“Technically, it was from Helen, since I bought it with her Green Card. If you want something else, I've got the receipt and you can take it back,” Daria offered.

“Are you kidding? It's perfect. Really, thanks Daria,” Jane insisted. “I'm not going to break the plastic on it today though.”

“No?”

“I've got a sculpture to work on, and I want to get done before Tom comes over this afternoon. That crazy kid just doesn't appreciate the whirr of a high-speed drill,” Jane despaired lightly.

“I guess he's never had a good root-canal,” Daria quipped flatly. “Is he going to be taking you out for food?”

“Should be,” Jane agreed. “So it will be just you and Trent at Casa Lane this evening.”

Daria shook her head. “Just me,” she corrected. “Trent and the Spiral have practice at Max's tonight.”

“Oh, sorry about that _Amiga_ ,” Jane apologised.

Daria shook her head. “I've got homework to do and a novel that I've been neglecting in favour of music and poetry. I'll do that tonight,” she stated easily. “I don't need to be entertained.”

Jane smiled gratefully – though still apologetic. “Still, sorry we're deserting you.”

“Even I need my alone time,” Daria said, unconcerned. “Come on, let's see what Ms Barch can blame on men today.”

Jane smirked.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria could hear Jane drilling down the hall as she re-read _The Prince_. She had to be sure of a few things for the villainous dictator that was the anti-hero of her story. A knock on her door interrupted her reading.

“Come in,” she allowed, suspecting Trent of being on the other side of the door, letting her know he was off to practice.

It wasn't Trent.

“Hey, _The Prince_ ,” Tom noted when he spotted the book in her hands. “Planning on taking over a country?” he asked.

“If I am, it's none of your business,” Daria answered him firmly.

Tom frowned. “Daria...”

“Whatever it is, my answer is 'get out',” Daria snapped shortly and dismissively. “Jane's room is down the hall, and clearly has her name on the door, just as this room has _my_ name on the door.”

“I don't want to disturb her while she's drilling,” Tom said.

“Yet you don't mind disturbing _me_ when I'm reading,” Daria countered, eyes narrowed at her best friend's boyfriend. “I repeat, get out.”

“You heard her,” Trent added from the door, a frown on his face.

Daria smiled. “Hey Trent,” she greeted.

“Hey Daria,” Trent replied. “I'm off to practice.”

“Will you be back late, or early?” Daria asked, ostensibly ignoring Tom, though she made sure to keep watch out of the corner of her eye. She didn't want him poking around in her stuff, though she hoped his parents had taught him _that_ much manners at least. “And will you eat?”

“Hmm... hard to say,” he admitted. “Depends on if Max and Nick get into another fight.”

“Um...”

Daria and Trent both turned to Tom at his attempt to venture a syllable into their conversation.

“Are you still here?” Daria asked.

Down the hall, the drilling stopped.

“Hey, still here, Trent?” Jane asked, and joined him in Daria's doorway. “Tom?”

“I thought I'd talk with Daria while you were drilling,” Tom offered quickly. “So as not to break your concentration.”

“Uh-huh,” Jane said.

“And _I_ told him to get _out_ shortly after he came _in_ ,” Daria added and (with her book still in one hand) folded her arms over her chest.

“Well, I'm done drilling, you've clearly stretched Daria's patience to its limit,” Jane noted, “and you promised me food.”

“I did,” Tom agreed. “See you Daria,” he bid, and headed for the door where Jane was waiting for him. “Trent.”

Trent just watched him go with a frown on his face, and turned back to Daria when he and Jane were out of sight. “Watch out for him Daria,” Trent warned. “He's into you, I can tell.”

Daria smiled and got up from her chair. “But I am not the least bit interested,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Trent's waist. “If he tries anything, he's going to have to watch out for _my_ combat boots, and then _Jane's_ combat boots -”

“And then _my_ combat boots,” Trent finished. “And possibly Jesse's as well.”

Daria slipped her hands up Trent's chest, over his shoulders, and rose up on her toes. With a smile, Trent bent enough to touch his lips to hers.

“I think tonight might be it for the Spiral,” Trent confessed a little sadly when they parted.

“Do you want it to be?” Daria asked gently.

Trent took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it in a big sigh. “It's probably for the best,” he admitted.

Daria stretched up to kiss him a second time, only reaching the edge of his jaw, but that was fine.

“As long as you don't give up on what _you_ want, just because the people around you can't or won't work together,” Daria said firmly. “You're not a bum, and you're not a sell-out, and you _have what it takes_.”

Trent smiled gratefully. “Thanks Daria,” he said softly.

She smiled back. “You're welcome,” she answered. “Now get out of here,” she instructed teasingly. “And if you're back _early_ , then stop by somewhere that will sell pancakes for take-away.”

Trent chuckled. “Yes'm,” he agreed fondly, then kissed Daria's forehead and turned to go.

Daria closed her door and returned to her desk with a smile on her face.

~lalaLAlala~

Jane stabbed at her canvas with her paintbrush, rather violently, and somehow managed to pierce it and slash through with the very blunt instrument.

“Jane,” Ms Defoe said gently, and judging by her face, a little concernedly, “while art is a time-honoured way to give expression to strong emotion, it shouldn't be at the expense of your canvas.”

“What?” Jane asked. Apparently she hadn't heard a word her favourite teacher had just said.

“Um, never mind,” Ms Defoe decided, and continued on to the next student.

“Huh, blue,” Daria noted as she stepped up beside her friend. “I'd have thought you were using red, considering how violent a death you were inflicting.”

“Bad week?” Jodie asked as she joined them.

“Definitely frustrating,” Jane allowed.

“Oh boy, what did he do now?” Daria demanded kindly.

“Who?” Jodie queried.

“Tom, my boyfriend,” Jane supplied. “We were, like, meant for each other,” she started.

“Jane, you superfluously used the word 'like',” Daria stated.

Jane winced. “I _am_ pissed off,” she defended, and turned back to Jodie. “We'd sit in front of the TV, make fun of whatever we saw, sometimes we'd go for pizza. It was the perfect relationship!”

“You're just joking when you say that, right?” Jodie enquired.

“But occasionally he starts talking at me like he's from a whole different planet!” Jane continued.

“I know the feeling,” Jodie replied flatly.

“You do?” Jane asked.

“I'm dating a football player,” Jodie reminded the girls. “Mack is better than most of the team, but he's _still_ a football player.”

Jane and Daria both winced in sympathy.

“Do you ever feel like you and Mack are drifting apart?” Jane pressed weakly.

“With all my extra-curricular activities, I don't see him enough for us to drift apart,” Jodie answered. “All in all, not a bad system,” she added seriously.

Jane sagged where she stood.

“Jane?” Daria probed.

“Tom and I aren't hitting things off too well,” Jane admitted. “I know you're totally apathetic towards him and very happy with your own burgeoning relationship, so all blame goes to Tom for going to _your_ room at Casa Lane to see you before he even poked his head into mine.”

“He did say he heard you drilling,” Daria offered, attempting to comfort her friend. “However, he didn't take a hint when I told him to leave me alone,” she added seriously. After all, she didn't want to set Jane up to get hurt by a jerk. Jane was her friend, after all. Her _first_ friend.

“When did I become a third wheel in my own relationship?” Jane asked sadly.

“Jane, you're being emotional where people can see you,” Daria reprimanded gently. “And you're not a third wheel. Tom is just proving himself to be worthy of contempt, as he isn't treating you with the respect and worship you deserve.”

Jane chuckled weakly. “Thanks, _Amiga_ ,” she said gratefully.

“If this guy does anything to hurt you, I could probably set Mack on him,” Jodie offered, not joking even though she was smiling.

“Only after Trent and I get through,” Daria stated with dark promise.

Jane's smile grew. “Thanks guys. It's really appreciated.”

~lalaLAlala~

The house was finished being fixed up, and Daria moved most of her stuff back to her (thankfully) still-padded room. Jane's issues with Tom hadn't been resolved, but she _was_ claiming that she was inspired for a new art piece, so all was well with the world. More or less.

A couple of days after Daria was back under her parent's roof, Jane called her.

The Spiral hadn't broken up the night when Tom had opted to knock on Daria's door instead of Jane's – but they sure weren't a band now.

Jane was going to take Trent to the zoo to help take his mind off the break-up (by far a more devastating one than any he'd had with Monique over the years), while also studying the animals there for her next art piece. She was calling because she wanted to know if Daria would be interested in meeting them there.

'There' being at the zoo, not at Casa Lane. Jane wanted to just ride with Trent as he drove his Plymouth. They hadn't done that for a while.

Daria agreed to meet them at the gates, and in turn called Jesse to _also_ meet them there. He probably wasn't handling the break-up any better than Trent.

“Daria!” Trent called, relieved to see her as he and Jane approached the gates after parking.

“Jane told me,” Daria said as she let him hold her tightly in the middle of the pavement. “How are you handling it?”

“I knew it was coming,” Trent answered while Jane paid for their entry. “That... doesn't make it easier though.”

“Nick and Max were holding you back though,” Jesse declared softly and solemnly as he walked up behind his best friend.

“Hey Jess,” Trent greeted. “Thought you'd still be sleeping, after how late the fighting went.”

Jesse shook his head. “I tried,” he admitted. “Couldn't though. Daria called me, said Jane had suggested a day at the zoo for mental health.”

“That I did,” Jane agreed, and added the cash to pay for Jesse's entry as well. “Alright, I'm out. One of you guys are paying for my lunch.”

“I got it,” Jesse said easily. “So, what animals are we checking out first?”

“Well, I want to look at the tigers, but I need to cement the image in my mind for an art piece, so it might be best to look at them last,” Jane offered up.

“What if we follow Simon and Garfunkle?” Daria suggested. “They list a bunch of animals in their song _At The Zoo_.”

“The only one I can remember from that song is the elephants,” Jesse stated.

Trent tilted his head back as he thought and tried to remember how that song went. “It was monkeys first, then giraffes, then elephants,” he recalled. “Then orangutans, then the zoo-keeper... uh, though I guess he's not an animal.”

“Wouldn't bet on it,” Jane quipped with a smirk as she tugged at them to head in. “What else was there?”

“Zebras, antelopes, pigeons, and hamsters,” Trent listed off slowly, counting them on his fingers. “I think that was all.”

Daria nodded. “Sounds right to me,” she agreed.

“I don't think the zoo _has_ hamsters,” Jesse said.

“They don't,” Jane told him, “and the pigeons are pests, not kept. But we can look at the tiger instead, since I need to look at it last thing before we go.”

“Cool.”


	36. Chapter 36

_Considering how bad men are, it is wonderful how well they behave._ \- Salvador de Madariaga

~lalaLAlala~

“Honey, I'm home,” Daria called in a monotone, tongue firmly in cheek, as she let herself into Casa Lane by the back door.

“Hey Daria,” Trent answered with a smile. The trip to the zoo had been a success for recovering after the band break-up, Trent claimed that it had also helped him get passed a block with a song he'd been working on. “Jane's upstairs with Tom,” he added.

Daria smiled happily. “Wouldn't want to interrupt them then,” she said, and set her bag on an empty part of the kitchen table.

Trent groaned as Daria settled lightly onto his lap and laced her fingers up behind his neck.

“Dammit,” he said tensely as his own hands settled on her hips. “How long until you're eighteen?”

“You must wait until after the fall,” Daria informed him. “On the bright side, summer is practically upon us.”

“I really can't wait for when it won't be illegal for me to kiss you,” Trent declared lowly.

“I don't think anybody who would report you is about to walk in on us,” Daria offered softly.

Trent shook his head. “Oh _Tom_ would,” he insisted. “Jane has him distracted for now, but he's into you too.”

“And we don't put anything past the jerks who come from old money,” Daria agreed with a slightly frustrated sigh of her own. “ _Damn_ living in one of the few states where _eighteen_ is the age of consent. If we were in Texas, I'd be legal right now. Hell, if we were in Pennsylvania, I'd have been legal when I turned _sixteen_.” She unlaced her fingers and wrapped her arms around Trent's back, like a more normal hug, and curled up against his chest.

“As trying as it is,” Trent offered softly as he rested his face against her hair, “I think it's a good thing that we're taking time to ease into being in a relationship before we try getting physical about it. It's not like you've got any experience with being in this sort of relationship after all, right?”

“Right,” Daria agreed quietly, and snuggled a little closer. “I get to have all my firsts with you.”

For a few minutes, they just sat like that. Daria content in Trent's lap, and him happy to have her there as he absently stroked her hip with his thumb, not even aware of the action.

“Want to go out to the gazebo and jam?” Daria suggested after a while.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “That would be good. We'll need to grab our guitars though,” he pointed out.

Daria stood from his lap, and Trent led the way out of the kitchen. Daria had most recently left her twelve-string at Casa Lane, and her six-string at her parent's house, so she followed after him to get her own guitar at the same time.

“Aha!” Jane yelled from the top of the stairs when they were just about to ascend.

“What's up, Janey?” Trent asked.

“I hope you don't mind Trent, but I'm going to steal Daria for a bit,” Jane said with a triumphant smirk.

“Do I dare ask for what?” Daria queried.

“Come on up and see, both of you,” Jane instructed with a wave and headed to her room.

The couple exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed Jane.

“Ta-da!” Jane declared as she presented her latest canvas with a grand gesture.

“It's very nice,” Daria allowed, “and yet I wonder if it's a cry for help.”

“I'd have to go with both,” Tom quipped with a smile.

“The lady? Or the tiger?” Jane asked, with a bit of a growl added on to the end of 'tiger'. “Now you don't have to choose,” she explained.

“Does this mean you're gonna be ordering the pizza with entrails?” Daria asked.

“If you are, then I'm _not_ sharing a pie with you,” Trent added.

“This is gonna be my new look,” Jane answered. “And _you're_ assisting in the procedure,” she informed Daria happily.

“I have a couple of conditions,” Daria consented, recognising that Jane was in a mood she would _not_ be talked down from.

“What?”

“We get Quinn to help too,” Daria said firmly. “I have no experience with this sort of thing, and I don't want to mess it up. Quinn's the hair expert, she'll make sure it turns out _right_.”

“And it adds a sisterly element to my teen-girl-bonding ideas,” Jane said, then shrugged. “Okay,” she agreed. “I'm glad you're not trying to wiggle out of it, and I accept that you genuinely don't want to screw this up for me. We can call in the fashionista.”

“As much as neither of us really want to. My _other_ condition is that we do this bit of art at my parent's house,” Daria stated. “Between the bathrooms here, and the bathrooms there, I'm fairly sure that _there_ has more of the appropriate equipment, even if I don't use any of it myself.”

Jane sighed. “Agreed.”

“I'll call Quinn and ask her what we need to buy on the way,” Daria offered tiredly, and reached for Jane's phone. “So much for just relaxing and jamming today.”

“Oops,” Jane said, and looked between her friend and her brother. “Sorry.”

Trent shook his head. “That's okay,” he told her. “Another time. I should really be working on that song anyway. I was just taking a quick break after, you know,” he said, hesitating on mentioning either his classes or his job in front of Tom.

Jane nodded that she _did_ know.

“Before I got back to it,” Trent finished.

“Jane, I need paper and pen,” Daria requested. “Quinn's giving me a list and my notebook is down in the kitchen.”

“Here ya go,” Jane responded quickly and handed over her latest sketchbook to a blank page, as well as a black ballpoint.

“I'll have you know that Quinn is madly excited about this,” Daria informed her friend when she hung up the phone.

“Of course she is,” Jane stated plainly. “She's been trying to convince _both_ of us to let her give us makeovers since you got to Lawndale.”

“Quinn _also_ says that going from black to blonde is a long process, and not something that can be rushed,” Daria added. “As such, and here I shall quote, 'it is a good thing you decided to have this makeover at the _beginning_ of the weekend'.”

“Damn.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

It  _ was _ a long process, with moments of intense horror along the way (always comforted by the fact that if, at the end, Jane  _ still _ didn't like how it looked, then dying it  _ black _ again would be  _ much _ easier, even if she would have to keep it up until the hair that had been bleached for the stripes had grown out), but Jane had her 'lady of the tiger' look in time for school on Monday.

And she was actually quite pleased with it.

For a week.

“I knew I shouldn't have screwed with my natural look,” Jane complained as she walked with Daria to the store to buy black hair dye. “I mean, it _looks_ cool, but it isn't something I can live with every day.”

“Hey, you tried it, and now you know,” Daria stated.

“Yeah,” Jane agreed with a sigh. “At least _this_ will be easier than getting it striped was.”

“It just has to be done regularly.”

“Dammit.”

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was returning by foot to her parent's place after having helped Jane dye her hair back to solidly black when she spotted a familiar Pinto parked in front of the red-brick house she was aiming for.

“Hey,” Tom greeted with a smile as he leant across from where he was sitting in the driver's seat, so that he could talk to her through the rolled down passenger side window.

“What are you doing here?” Daria demanded flatly.

“I wanted to talk to you. Your sister said you weren't home, so I figured I'd wait out here,” Tom answered, oozing charm. “Um... why don't you get in the car?”

“I believe I expressed my opinion of getting into that car, ever, the last time you made that offer,” Daria replied, eyes narrowed at him.

“Um...”

“I'm not getting into that car,” Daria reminded him.

“Okay,” Tom agreed, and climbed out quickly. He then circled around to stand next to her, and leant against his rusting auto.

“And what did you want to talk about this time?” Daria questioned.

“About our situation,” Tom replied.

Daria frowned. “I don't know what you mean. We have no situation,” she stated firmly. “Leave me alone, I gotta go,” she declared, and headed towards the front door.

“Wait!” Tom begged, and grabbed her shoulder. “I don't understand why everyone's mad at _me_.”

“Well, here's my reason,” Daria started, gearing herself up for a good tirade. “When I moved to this town, I _knew_ I'd be a total outcast. By sheer _luck_ I met someone who was as much of an outcast as I was. We made a good team. I helped motivate her to put more effort into her academics, and she helped motivate me to be more social, and suddenly we weren't as big a pair of outcasts as we _had_ been. For the _first time_ in my life I didn't feel completely alone, then _you_ came along,” Daria expounded. “And now you're screwing everything up.”

“All I did was meet a girl I thought was cool,” Tom defended. “I went out with her for a while. We started to get bored with each other. It happens all the time. It's nobody's fault.”

“Oh yeah?” Daria asked. “Would you still be bored with her if _I_ weren't around?”

“Probably,” Tom admitted. “And she'd be bored with me. It's got nothing to do with you.”

“I don't believe you, but I'm glad to hear it anyway,” Daria decided.

Tom abruptly reached over, grabbed her, and pulled her into a kiss.

Daria brought up her knee sharply and, while he fell to the ground in pain, she stomped on his foot before she marched into her parents house and grabbed the phone.

Quinn wasn't using it – the Fashion Club were all present for a meeting about blush – so there was no conflict issue there.

Daria called the Lane number.

“ _Hello?”_ Trent answered.

“Trent, you and Jane need to get over here and beat up a jerk before he manages to crawl into his Pinto and make a successful getaway,” Daria informed him angrily.

“ _Janey! Grab your keys, Daria's got an emergency at her place!”_ Trent yelled away from the phone. _“We'll be right there. Don't let him get away.”_

“He still hasn't gotten off the ground yet,” Daria answered as she checked out the window. “Hurry all the same.”

“ _Trent!”_ Jane's voice called from beyond the phone.

The dial-tone sounded. Trent had hung up.

Daria set the phone down.

“Daria?” Quinn called, distracted by her sisters distress. “What's going on?”

“I was just forcibly kissed by the boyfriend of my best friend,” Daria answered. “I feel violated,” she added.

“You _stole_ the boyfriend of your best friend?” Quinn yelped.

“No,” Daria corrected. “I _violently_ _rejected_ the _scum_ who doesn't _deserve_ the romantic attention my best friend has given him when he _forced himself on me_.”

“Oh,” Quinn said. “The guy cheated, er, _attempted_ to cheat -”

“Oh, he cheated alright,” Daria growled. “I just refused to be a participant in the gross betrayal.”

“Sisters before misters,” Quinn rallied. “Girls?” she called as she turned to her friends. They had, of course, heard the whole thing.

“It's a shame I'm not wearing my stiletto heels,” Sandi said as she stood, a look of dark satisfaction on her face. “They really are the best for dealing with jerks like that.”

“Really the best,” Tiffany agreed, standing also. She wore a delicate sneer.

Stacy, however, calmly collected up the make up that was spread out.

“Stacy,” Sandi demanded. “What are you doing?”

Stacy smiled innocently up at Sandi. “Boys seem to hate nothing more than being made up,” she answered.

“Oh, you're good,” Sandi praised.

By that point, Daria could see that Tom was beginning to slowly pull himself up from the ground with the aid of his car, but Jane's bug had arrived out front as well.

Daria headed out once more.

“Tom!” Jane exclaimed. “What happened?”

“He kissed me is what happened,” Daria answered her friend before Tom could come up with an explanation. “I didn't react quite the way he anticipated, I think.”

Jane frowned at her boyfriend. “You kissed Daria?” she demanded lowly, both hands curling into fists. She was not, however, questioning her friend's story.

“Um...” Tom hesitated, eyes shifting every which-way as he tried to come up with an answer that might get him out of trouble.

Trent's bejewelled fist connected with his jaw, violently, before he said anything else.

“Which knee did you get Daria?” Jane asked as she watched Tom go down dispassionately.

“Left,” Daria answered, not mentioning that she'd actually gotten his groin and his foot, and hadn't gone for the knee at all.

Jane proceeded to kick in Tom's right knee-cap.

“We are _so_ through!” she informed him vindictively, then turned to Daria. “Surprisingly, I feel a lot better now.”

“Our turn,” Quinn announced from behind the trio.

“Stacy has devised a truly fitting punishment for boyfriends who cheat with best friends,” Sandi declared.

“Make-over,” Tiffany finished.

“Thank you for making sure he won't run away,” Stacy added, and with such genuine innocence that it was actually somewhat frightening.

“That's the girl who blubbered in the Ferris Wheel about her date not calling her?” Trent asked his sister quietly as they stepped back.

“That's Stacy Rowe,” Jane agreed, wide-eyed.

“It seems she has hidden depths,” Daria observed, just as impressed as the two Lanes she was standing between.


	37. Chapter 37

_ Nobody's interested in sweetness and light. _ \- Hedda Hopper

~lalaLAlala~

“I think I'm finally finding out what it feels like to be a Lane,” Daria said to Jane with a modicum of happiness – they were having this conversation at school, so she couldn't show  _ too _ much.

“That can't be,” Jane objected lightly, a smirk on her face. “It's only afternoon and you're already out of bed.”

“Trent would be hurt to hear you say that,” Daria quipped.

“Mm,” Jane agreed. “The reminder of days of yore, when he _was_ in bed when I came home from school.”

“Actually, I was referring to the lack of tiresome parental involvement,” Daria stated. “Mine have been so busy lately that they've completely forgotten to force me into some dumb summer activity. Am I turning into you?”

“No, we're just being hit with some irony,” Jane answered. “Because _I've_ got summer plans.”

“What?”

“An old commune friend of my mother's runs an artist's colony,” Jane explained. “I've been accepted into their summer programme.”

“Okay, one: congratulations. This will be really good for you,” Daria said sincerely.

“Thanks,” Jane answered. “When you list a 'one' though, there's usually a 'two' that follows it.”

Daria nodded. “Two: I'm going to miss you like hell while you're gone,” she stated.

Jane smirked. “You'll be too busy with Trent, I'm sure,” she teased happily.

“Three,” Daria continued.

Jane blinked in surprise. “You normally don't go that far,” she noted.

“Three,” Daria repeated. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I didn't want to jinx it,” Jane admitted with a shrug. “It's going to be two months of painting and sculpting my black little heart out in a college town in the middle of nowhere, starting this weekend!”

“Does this college town have a name? Or do you just turn left at the kid with the tractor?” Daria enquired.

“Actually, I'm not entirely sure either,” Jane admitted with a chuckle. “I've just got directions. I'll make you a copy when I get home.”

“Very much appreciated.”

“Daria?” a new voice called, breaking in on their conversation.

“Quinn?” Daria answered in surprise. “What's up? You usually avoid addressing me while on school property.”

“My class just got our P-Stat scores back,” Quinn explained, “and I'm not happy with my results,” she added, and passed over the sheet.

“A solid thousand isn't anything to be ashamed of,” Jane pointed out as she peered over Daria's shoulder at the paper.

“I know that,” Quinn retorted, “and I know Sandi was _probably_ lying when she said she'd got a thousand _and one_ after I shared my score, but I'm sure I could do better than this.”

Daria nodded. “You can,” she agreed. “But you let your obsession with your social life cut in to your study time a bit more often than you should.”

“I'm not going to get to study at _all_ over summer unless I tell my friends I'm getting a tutor forced on me,” Quinn stated plainly, her voice soft. “I don't actually _need_ a tutor, but it will be enough of an excuse.”

“And if I'm tutoring you, then Mom won't try and force any last-minute summer activities on me, and Dad doesn't have to worry about paying for one,” Daria supplied.

“Take advantage of Casa Lane,” Jane advised. “Your friends won't think to call you there.”

“It wouldn't bother you?” Quinn asked.

“ _I_ am going to an art colony for the summer,” Jane replied. “You can use Penny's room. She won't be back for another ten years or so. Or the sound-proof basement if Daria and Trent get to doing anything loud.”

“And if you actually _do_ need help with something, then I'll be in yelling range,” Daria added. “Unless _I'm_ in the soundproof part of the basement, recording.”

“Thanks Daria,” Quinn said.

“You're welcome. After all, this keeps Mom off _both_ of our backs, and you know I'm all in favour of you using the brain you were born with,” Daria answered.

Quinn shuddered. “Ugh, holiday activities,” she agreed. “Mr O'Neill asked for volunteer counsellors at his 'Okay to Cry Corral' when class ended.”

“Sounds like an extension of his self-esteem course, but for younger kids,” Daria remarked as she looked over at Jane.

All three girls shuddered.

~lalaLAlala~

“May second?” Jake read on the waffle packet he'd just eaten four waffles from. “Hey! It's June! These waffles have expired!”

“Relax Jake,” Helen countered calmly. “That's a _sell by_ date, they've been frozen since then. They're fine.”

“Easy for _you_ to say! You didn't just eat four poisoned waffles!” Jake snapped back.

“Mom's right,” Daria joined in. “Besides, there isn't really all that much in waffles that can poison you.”

“It's June?” Helen asked, catching up with the date all of a sudden. “Oh my gosh. Daria, what are you doing this summer?”

“Don't worry, I have a job.”

“Really?” Helen enquired, disbelieving. “And what is this job?” she pressed.

“I'm sorry, but the confidentiality agreement I signed with the government prevents me from answering that,” Daria responded flatly.

“Wow!” Jake said, impressed.

Helen gave him a flat, _un_ impressed Look.

“I mean, uh, wow, funny joke Daria!” Jake corrected himself quickly.

“I'm serious Daria,” Helen stated, turning her attention back to her eldest child. “I'm not going to let you sit around the house all summer.”

“And I don't intend to,” Daria agreed, then sighed and pulled out a note pad from her pocket. “I _intend_ to make some headway on the business plan Dad helped me create,” she read off as she ran a finger down the list. “I _intend_ to spend time with Trent learning how to fix a car engine -”

“I didn't know Trent knew that,” Helen said softly.

“He's taking a course, and he's going to teach me when he gets back each day, to make sure what he was taught is properly fixed in his mind,” Daria explained.

“And as well as all that, Daria is going to be tutoring me this summer,” Quinn added as she walked into the kitchen.

“Quinn?” Helen queried, confused.

“I'm not happy with my P-Stat scores, so I asked Daria to tutor me over the break,” Quinn explained.

“And we'll be doing that at Trent's, so the study can't be interrupted by phone calls,” Daria finished.

“Oh,” Helen said softly. “Well... Good for you girls, though Quinn, you should be doing more with your summer than _just_ studying, though I am proud of you for making that commitment.”

“I'm going to go for my driver's licence as well,” Quinn replied quickly.

“Alright,” Helen allowed.

“Good for you,” Jake added with a smile. “Want me to find you a car like I did for Daria?”

“I'm sure Jane could be convinced to do anther paint-job,” Daria added. “When she gets back form the art colony.”

“I'd really like a convertible,” Quinn offered hesitantly, aware that convertibles weren't really something that could be gotten cheaply, but she did want a _cool_ car, as much as she didn't want to cause her father any more stress that might lead to another heart attack.

“I'll see what I can find,” Jake promised.

~lalaLAlala~

What Jake found was a gutted Mustang. The body was fine, no rust spots anywhere, but there was no engine, the seats were all torn, and the tires were flat.

“Jane is going to love this,” Daria said when the tow-truck hauled Quinn's new car into the Morgendorffer drive way.

“It doesn't have an _engine_!” Quinn pointed out.

“That can be corrected,” Daria answered with a smile.

“Oh, right, you and Trent are doing that auto-repairs thing,” Quinn recalled.

“Dad, we're gonna need your plastic to buy the parts,” Daria stated.

With a concerned expression, Jake held out his Gold Card to his eldest.

“Don't worry,” Daria reassured him. “Part of Trent's course is how to source parts for cheap. We'll take out a cash advance. The dealers give discounts if you pay in cash.” And she'd also get the parts Trent needed for _his_ car, as her contribution to the 'improve the Plymouth' birthday present plan that Jane had set out when Jake bought the Mini and the bug.

Quinn took refuge in the soundproofed section of the Lane basement to study while Daria and Trent alternated between working on the cars, working on their music, and occasionally taking time out to just quietly _sit_ _very closely_ and enjoy that closeness.

On the day of, Daria insisted on dragging Trent into his room and giving him a very thorough birthday kiss, even if the very idea of it had set a colony of butterflies to fluttering madly in her stomach. The way Trent had groaned in appreciative frustration had settled those butterflies and put a smile on her face.

A couple of days after that, they were taking a break from the cars and having a drink of water when Trent spotted an ice cream truck rolling down the street.

“Hey,” he said, and pointed it out. “Want a scoop?”

“I could go for that,” she agreed. “You hail the van, I'll get the money and ask Quinn if she's interested.”

Trent nodded in agreement, and stood from the front step of his house.

Daria ducked inside.

“Quinn!” Daria called as she headed down.

“Huh? Oh, hey Daria,” Quinn answered. “How's it going?”

“Taking a break,” Daria replied. “There's an ice cream van in the street. Interested?”

“God yes,” Quinn declared and pushed herself up from the table she'd been working at.

Daria smiled. “Might be an idea to pull something on,” she advised.

“Ha ha,” Quinn retorted. “It's  _ hot _ down here!”

“That could be Mrs Lane's kiln,” Daria offered as she threw Quinn's t-shirt at her. “But there is a reason none of the equipment gets stored down here. It's sound-proof, not heat-proof.”

“Right,” Quinn agreed, and pulled her top back on. She'd been sitting there in only her bra and skirt, sweating as she studied. Yet another reason Daria was the one who'd gone to tell Quinn about the ice cream instead of Trent. She had an ice-chest full water next to her study-spot, but that just kept her hydrated, not cool.

Daria grabbed a few of the bills that were spare from the cash advances she and Trent had taken on Jake's Gold Card and the two sisters headed back up and outside.

“Ugh, it's just as hot out here as it is down in the basement,” Quinn complained.

“Ice cream to the rescue then,” Daria said, only to blink in surprise at the person who was  _ in _ the ice cream truck. “Mack?”

“Hey Daria,” Mack replied tiredly. “Man, am I glad it's not a horde of kids this time. What can I get you guys?”

“Snow-cones,” Quinn answered quickly. “I'd like lemonade flavoured, please. It is  _ way _ too hot for anything else.”

“I'll have lime syrup on my snow-cone if you've got it,” Trent put in.

“Daria?” Mack asked.

“Same as Quinn,” Daria answered.

“One lime and two lemonade snow-cones,” Mack agreed. “I gotta say, I think this is the first street I've stopped in where I wasn't suddenly and immediately swamped by yelling, bratty kids.”

“All the kids in  _ this _ street got sent to that 'Okay to Cry Corral' that O'Neill runs,” Trent said with a shake of his head. “Give it five minutes with the music going though, and you'll get some more customers about my age.”

“Hey, ice cream,” a voice called in approval. “How perfect for a day like today.”

“Hey Mom,” Trent greeted when he turned and saw her exiting the house. “Everything out of the kiln?”

Amanda nodded. “And it's shut off,” she added. “I  _ do _ apologise for the heat down in the basement Quinn,” she said.

“It's not like it's any cooler out here Mrs Lane,” Quinn pointed out as she ate her snow-cone.

“True,” Amanda agreed with a sigh.

“Can I get you anything ma'am?” Mack asked politely.

“I think I'd like a nice big scoop of strawberry ripple in a waffle cone,” Amanda decided after a moment of consideration.

“Coming right up,” Mack agreed.

More people filtered out of their houses slowly as the ice cream truck sat there, its music playing, and Mack serving scoops to sedate customers. Quinn, Daria and Trent all came back for a second snow-cone each before they returned to their previous occupations – study for Quinn, and working on car engines for Daria and Trent.

“This has got to be my most successful stop all week,” Mack declared with a relieved smile as he closed up the back of the van and climbed into the cabin. “Lots of sales, and no snotty kids to deal with. Thanks for hailing me down.”

“No problem,” Trent agreed with a smile. “The snow-cones were good.”

“Come back again tomorrow,” Daria suggested.

“I'll do that,” Mack promised.

~lalaLAlala~

The Mustang was ready to move under its own power by the half-way point of the summer holidays. It wouldn't be the most comfortable ride, but Quinn was prepared to suffer through that, if it meant she could get her car to Jane to get a makeover.

Daria called ahead while Trent loaded Jane's airbrushing paints and equipment into the back of her Mini. They were going to make a convoy of it. Daria in the Mini, Trent in his Plymouth, and Quinn in her new Mustang. Daria's Mini would show off to the art colony just how talented Jane was, while the Plymouth and the Mustang would get to be her next canvases. Yes, Trent had finally caved to the idea of getting his car to look good now that he had it working properly.

Quinn was the one that had bugged him about it.

“ _Boy am I glad to be hearing from you,_ Amiga _,”_ Jane said when she answered the phone.

“The colony sucks, huh?” Daria queried.

“ _Only in a mind-numbingly pretentious kind of way,”_ Jane answered.

“Do you think a familiar face might brighten the experience?” Daria suggested.

“ _Yes. God, yes,”_ was Jane's firm and fervent response.

“Then you'll be getting three, and two rolling canvasses,” Daria informed her friend with a smile.

“ _Two? Daria?”_

“Quinn's got a Mustang convertible, and she's willing to pay you to give it a makeover,” Daria explained. “And as I recall, you were going to attack Trent's Plymouth with your paint for his birthday?” she added lightly.

“ _Yes!”_ Jane cheered. _“And a Mustang? Damn, how much did_ that _set Jake back?”_

“He got the car for two bucks, but it didn't have an engine at all,” Daria explained. “He then surrendered his Gold Card to me for cash advances, and Trent and I have been bonding over the build.”

Jane laughed.  _“That's great, Amiga,”_ she said happily.  _“Now when can I expect you up?”_

“We'll be at the colony by tonight, and we're bringing all your airbrushing stuff,” Daria said.

“ _Thanks. I'll need that. This is gonna be great.”_

“See ya.”

“ _Adios Amiga,”_ Jane agreed, and Daria could hear the smile.

~lalaLAlala~

“Um... who's the guy that forgot to do his beard when he bleached his head?” Quinn asked with an arched brow shortly after Jane greeted them.

“Oh, that's _Daniel_ ,” Jane answered with all the sarcastic fawning she could get into two-and-a-half syllables worth of name. “Otherwise known at Mr Dotson. He's rumoured to go through students like I go through paint.”

“Okay, ew,” Quinn said frankly.

“Seconded,” Daria agreed.

“Janey, he hasn't tried with _you_ , has he?” Trent asked dangerously.

“Nah, I'm too obviously jail-bait,” she answered with a dismissive wave. “Besides, I can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for ten minutes together. He's very big on the self-congratulatory yap.”

“And very small on everything else?” Quinn guessed wryly.

“All that study seems to have been good for your cynicism and sarcasm reflexes,” Daria noted approvingly.

“What can I say? I've had a good tutor,” Quinn quipped.

The Lane siblings both chuckled in appreciation of the Morgendorffer sisters and their light banter – after all, they all knew that Daria hadn't been tutoring Quinn as much as they both claimed to Helen.

“Now, on to more important topics,” Jane declared, and turned to the cars. “What do you have in mind for your Mustang? I could play on the name, maybe do a herd of horses running along the sides.”

“Hmm,” Quinn hummed thoughtfully. “That could be cute, but I want something I'll still be comfortable with when I'm not in high school any more, and 'cute' is something that people can't seem to pull off after a certain age.”

“Well, red, blue and black are all classic Mustang colours,” Jane offered.

“Not black,” Quinn said instantly. “It may go with everything, but it's too dark for me, and I don't really want to go in for primaries too much. What about purple?” she suggested.

Jane looked from Quinn to the car and back a few times, and stroked her chin with her hand in thought. “Purple would work,” she agreed. “I'll mix _Mustang Sally_ with the Hanson brothers. I think you'll be able to live with that?”

“Oh, to live with the Hanson brothers _themselves_ ,” Quinn cooed dreamily. “They are all _so_ cute – and each in a different way to the other...”

Jane smirked at that little titbit. “Any preference for the interior?”

“Easy to clean,” Quinn answered at once. “In case of make-up spills.”

“Fortunately, I have access to all sorts of materials for no extra charge while I'm here, so I think I should be able to give you a white leather interior,” she offered speculatively. “Don't hold me to that, but I'll try.”

“That would be _really_ cool,” Quinn agreed.

“Leave it to me. Oh, and don't let any of the artists here treat you to a meal and a drink,” Jane warned. “They're only doing it to get into your pants.”

“What?!”

“Jane?” Daria said lowly.

“Who?” Trent demanded with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I was hit on by a woman and requested to doubt my orientation,” Jane answered. “I got the hell out as soon as I figured it out. My virtue remains intact.”

Brother and best friend alike both relaxed.

“Now, the Plymouth... D'you want to keep it blue, bro?”

“As long as you don't make it pink or yellow, I'm not too fussed,” Trent said with an easy shake of his head. “You know me, I trust your judgement.”

“Right,” Jane agreed. “Daria, I'm going to need you to pose on the hood with Trent after I've given the car it's initial coat of paint.”

“Do I dare ask why?” Daria queried with amusement.

“You're gonna be a silhouette,” Jane answered with a smile. “Nah, I'm kidding.”

Trent got vague hints of blue-and-green sunsets on a mirror-shiny black for his car's new paint job, and Jane re-covered the seats in midnight faux-suede once she'd finished painting everything. She got quite a bit of praise for her 'car art' too.

On the other hand, a number of the other artists were enjoying the effects of the berries she'd brought along, and the inspiration those berries gave them for their art... Well, as could be suspected of a college town filled with wannabe artists, the underhanded hallucinogenic trade was proving to be _extremely_ lucrative.


	38. Chapter 38

_Education is a state-controlled manufactory of echoes._ \- Norman Douglas

~lalaLAlala~

Fall, the first day back at Lawndale High for the new scholastic year, but you wouldn't know by the mercury readings. It was damn hot out.

Ms Li, naturally, started the year on a very sour note.

“Welcome back students,” she declared over the PA system. “Please be aware that the school nurse _is_ in, and waiting to collect your voluntary urine samples. Show your Lawndale High spirit with a gift of _urine_!”

Throughout the school, even the most cynical and disaffected were saying 'ew' after that announcement.

Daria knocked on Mr DeMartino's door before the bell for classes was due to sound.

“Come in.”

“Hello Mr DeMartino,” Daria greeted.

“Daria,” he answered, and actually seemed to be surprisingly calm. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I don't know if you've looked over class lists yet, but I think my sister is in your history class this year,” Daria said. “I wanted to let you know that she's been studying hard all summer, so if you start losing faith, she'll have answers. I know you were lamenting squandering your potential by becoming a teacher before the summer break.”

Anthony sighed. “Thank you Daria,” he said. “I have actually had an enjoyable summer, and my desire to teach restored. Your consideration is appreciated, however.”

Daria nodded. “You're my favourite teacher in this whole hell-hole of a school,” she admitted. “Of course, if anyone asks while I'm still attending this hell-hole, I'll deny I ever said that.”

Anthony chuckled, amused. “Of course,” he agreed. “And thank you, Daria. As good as I feel about my chosen career right now, I doubt it will last long into my first class with Kevin.”

~lalaLAlala~

No one in education felt very good for long. Shortly after the school year began, budget cuts were announced – and for once, not by Ms Li. No, this set of budget cuts were handed down by someone much higher in the food chain, and Lawndale wasn't the only school to suffer. Every school in the county, and indeed the _country_ got to 'enjoy' the latest budget cuts. It was up to the schools themselves to come up with the funding for anything they needed.

Unfortunately, Ms Li didn't care all that much about supplying funds for the academia. The photocopier was so old that everything it produced was illegible, and there was no money for the books the students needed. Mr DeMartino was given the excuse that, as a history teacher, he didn't _need_ anything more recent than V.E. Day, and when a colour of paint ran out... well, it wasn't replaced with any alacrity.

Ms Li only agreed to take action in regards to acquiring more school funds when it was brought to her attention that _even the football team_ was suffering.

“Attention students,” Ms Li said, very quietly, over the PA – _after_ the bell letting students out of their final class had rung. “An acute paper shortage prevents us from an announcement about the -” and here her voice dropped into practically a whisper, “- school review meeting. Please remind your parents that it's on the thirtieth at six o'clock. Thank you.”

Daria took a moment to process that as her peers filed out of Ms Barch's class.

“Since when are school review meetings held on Sundays?” Daria questioned.

“Who cares?” Jane asked. “It's not like _we're_ going. _We_ have plans.”

“True,” Daria agreed.

They were going to go bowling with, or more accurately, _against_ Trent and Jesse. It was Lane and Friend against Lane and Friend, and incidentally, boys against girls. They were avoiding the Superbowl.

“Hang on,” Daria said shortly as that registered. “She's arranged a school review meeting on _Superbowl_ night, and I'll bet she doesn't actually _want_ anybody at that meeting.”

“Suspicious,” Jane allowed. “But, again, we have plans. You're not disrupting them so that you can find out what Ms Li is plotting ahead of the game. If it will make you feel better though, we can probably send my mom. It's not like she watches the Superbowl, and since Trent's the one who owns the house now, she's a lot more open to suggestions coming from us kids.”

“Thanks,” Daria said sincerely.

~lalaLAlala~

The results of their bowling night, after each of them had somehow survived ten frames, were that Trent and Jesse had a combined score of two-hundred-and-fourteen, which meant they won by five points. In other news, the results of the school review meeting (that Amanda _had_ agreed to attend) were soon in evidence throughout the school.

Vending machines appeared in every corridor, when there had only been two in the whole school before. Coca-cola brand vending machines, with all their different flavours, were in the central building and cafeteria. Vending machines full of bottled water in the library. Gatorade dominated the gym.

“Well, now we know Ms Li's latest grab for more money,” Daria stated, a little unhappily. “Still, it _could_ be worse.”

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. “It could all be _one_ brand, _one_ flavour, and posters promoting that brand all over the place. As things stand, we're just paying double the normal price for whatever flavour soda we want, and we aren't being forced to buy them either.”

“It could be a _lot_ worse,” Daria amended. “And you know what? I think we actually have your mother to thank for that.”

“Mm,” Jane assented with a nod.

Actually, Amanda had just pointed out that it wasn't likely that _every_ student liked the same flavour sodas. Ms Li had figured out without any further prompting that offering as many different options as possible (at a slightly elevated price) would be more profitable than getting a single, exclusive contract.

The school also got a sizeable, regular fee from a brand called 'Ultra Cola' for painting their brand on the roofs of the school buildings. It was less than ideal, but, as already noted, it could have been a _lot_ worse.

~lalaLAlala~

“Are you Miss Morgendorffer?” asked the man who'd rung the doorbell. He had a _very_ large bouquet of roses in his arms, and the logo of a florist on his hat.

“Daria or Quinn?” Daria asked. “We've got two that answer to that title.”

“These are for Quinn,” the man said, and handed over the flowers. “You must be Daria,” he added, and held out his hand – expecting a tip.

Daria bent to look at the proffered palm. “Hmm. It says here that people keep closing doors in your face,” she noted, and promptly suited actions to words.

The roses _were_ lovely, Daria would grant that to whoever it was that had sent them to Quinn, and Daria pretended for a moment that they were for her, from Trent, before she shook off the stupid daydream and took them in to the kitchen.

Quinn was there, setting another bunch of flowers into a vase.

“You seem to be getting a lot of flowers and chocolates,” Daria observed. “And it isn't even your birthday. Did you come down with some debilitating illness and forget to share the good news?”

“Funny,” Quinn quipped back as she made sure the flowers were all pointed in the right direction as they sat in the vase. “They're anniversary gifts. I didn't _ask_ for them, though,” she added with a smirk. “I never _ask_ guys to buy me gifts. I only _suggest_.”

Daria rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said sarcastically.

Quinn shook her head. “We're teenagers Daria,” she pointed out. “And at this point in our lives, we are fairly well able to judge how much a guy cares according to how much of a fuss he makes about the important dates. Dates like anniversaries.”

“Uh-huh,” Daria allowed, though she had no intention of falling into that for herself, nor of demanding (or making suggestions to) Trent in that vein. “Well, while you get flowers and chocolates from boys you don't really care about for anniversaries of trivial occasions, I'm going to remind you that the anniversary of _my birth_ is approaching once more.”

“I haven't forgotten,” Quinn dismissed with a wave. “But forgetting anniversaries is a sign that you're being taken for granted, according to Sandi. I can't really speak from personal experience on that one.”

“And I'm not in a relationship that will _offer_ anniversaries to be remembered or forgotten,” Daria countered. She and Trent _couldn't_ be in a relationship until she got passed her next birthday – after which point, her birthday would _also_ be their anniversary. Nice and easy to remember.

“Not yet,” Quinn riposted. “But you will be someday Daria. If you ever crawl out of your protective shell long enough to admit having feelings for a guy.”

Nice to have confirmation that not even Quinn had caught on to her burgeoning romance with Trent.


	39. Chapter 39

_ The voyage of love is all the sweeter for an outside stateroom and a seat at the Captain's table. _ \- Henry Haskins

~lalaLAlala~

Jane had been tasked with Keeping Daria Busy And Away From Casa Lane. Her plan of attack was to take Daria to Dega Street and then back to Chateau Morgendorffer to watch  _ Sick Sad World _ in Daria's room.

While that was happening, Brittany was helping Trent decorate Casa Lane for Daria's birthday party – after all, she really had the most experience with that sort of thing. Mack and Jesse were in charge of organising the food, drinks, and most importantly _the cake_. They may have sampled a few things along the way, for quality control purposes, but most of the food made it to the tables intact. Jodie talked to Daria's parents, explaining why the birthday girl wouldn't be having dinner with her family the night she turned eighteen. It was a slightly difficult discussion, made much harder with having to convince Helen and Jake that they really _shouldn't_ come over to Casa Lane to celebrate Daria's big day with her.

They only listened when Quinn picked up the phone and joined in the conversation, saying that Daria wouldn't want them there, and reminding them that they'd given Daria her birthday presents (gift vouchers and cash stashed in Hallmark cards) at breakfast already.

The sun was just starting to go down when Jane finally directed her bug, with Daria inside, back to Casa Lane. Daria was not in her usual garb. Quinn had given her a voucher for Funky Doodle, the alternative clothing place on Dega Street that was next to the guitar shop. Actually, Quinn had given her a voucher for the guitar shop as well, though it was only enough to get some new strings and a pick.

Daria was wearing the dress Trent had pointed out to her almost a year ago. The one with the orange skirt attached to a top with alternating black and white squares and cinched at the waist by a white belt. The one Trent had said he thought Daria would look good in.

He'd been right. Jane thoroughly and enthusiastically approved the choice.

Upon pulling up in the driveway, Jane confiscated her friend's glasses, a smirk on her brightly-painted lips.

Daria scowled back, though without any real heat. “Is this an effort to blind me, or force me to put in my contacts?” she demanded of the fuzzy blob she knew to be her first and best friend.

“It can't be both?” Jane countered happily.

Daria sighed, and withdrew from her pocket the little container that held her contacts. She put them in, reclaimed her glasses from Jane to put away, and only sighed as a blindfold was wrapped around her face. Okay, she smiled too, but she didn't do _that_ on purpose. For the first time in over a decade, she was having a birthday party. For the first time _ever_ , she was going to be celebrating with people she really cared about. So what if Jane wanted to be dramatic about it. Jane enjoyed drama. She was an artist. That was normal for her breed.

Jane manoeuvred Daria out of the car and into the house, and a few steps in, a collective of voices yelled out “Surprise!” and Jane whipped off the blindfold before she quickly circled around to stand with the rest of the people there.

Daria blinked to adjust, and smiled at the sight that met her. The same six people that had come to see her when she was in hospital with an inexplicable red rash had now congregated in Casa Lane with cake and bunting to celebrate _her_ eighteen years of life. And she was happy. Not embarrassed or annoyed. She was happy.

Brittany started off the birthday singing with the traditional _Happy Birthday To You_ , and actually led the group of friends through _For She's A Jolly Good Fellow_ and _Why Was She Born So Beautiful_ as well before she called out “Hip hip!”

“Hooray!” the others answered enthusiastically.

“Hip hip!” Brittany repeated brightly.

“Hooray!” was once again chorused back.

“Hip hip!” Brittany called out for what would be the last time.

“Hooray!” the others called once more, and with more gusto than the previous two times.

“Now blow out the candles and make a wish _Amiga_ ,” Jane instructed happily as she finally tugged Daria to the table where the cake, complete with lit candles, was waiting for the birthday girl.

Daria chuckled softly, shook her head, and obediently took a deep breath. It had to be a deep breath. For reasons beyond her comprehension, they'd actually put eighteen candles on her three-tiered cake. She was going to have to blow around the cake, not just at it.

She got more cheers when she successfully snuffed every candle with the one blow.

“Excellent breath control,” Trent praised softly.

“Now cut the cake!” Jesse insisted, and passed over a knife.

Daria carefully sliced off the entire top tier of her three-tiered cake, lifted it onto a paper plate, and handed it off to Jesse.

“Score!” he said with a grin. “Thanks Daria!”

“There's enough cake here that _everyone_ can have that much,” Daria pointed out.

Once the cake had been passed out, everybody settled in to chairs and ate. Once the cake was gone, Daria was told to remain in her seat while everybody else presented her with birthday gifts, like some kind of queen accepting tribute from her subjects.

Mack and Jodie had gotten together, pooled their cash, and bought her some software that would be very useful for creating a web page – something that a great many businesses these days were making sure they had. Brittany, bless her pompoms, had bought Daria the latest in home video cameras.

“Because the music video you made for _The Tank_ was _really_ good, but I know you don't have your _own_ video camera,” Brittany explained happily. “But now you do!”

“Thank you Brittany,” Daria said, quietly awed. It wasn't exactly a cheap gift. The web page software had also set back Mack and Jodie a fair bit as well, but they'd bought it together, making it a less painful process for their combined wallets. A video camera was something else.

“Damn,” Jesse said softly as he considered his gift. “I only got you a bunch of notebooks.”

Daria smiled at him. “I can _always_ use more notebooks,” she insisted and accepted his parcel gratefully. “Thanks Jesse.”

Jane produced a first edition copy of Daria's favourite piece of classic literature, found on the internet.

Then it was just Trent.

While everybody else had been giving Daria their wrapped-up gifts, Trent had been pulling out a microphone and hooking up his acoustic guitar to the recording equipment he'd secretly brought into the main living space while he and Brittany had been cleaning and decorating for the party.

“Trent?” Daria queried.

He smiled back, pressed the button to record, and started to play.

“Thought I was walking/ towards my doom/ and my heart ached/ like an open wound/ I poisoned myself/ with careless lies/ never believed/ anyone would try/ stuck in a rut/ repeating/ repeating/ repeating over again/” he sang.

Daria frowned to herself. It wasn't anything like the song Trent had written for Jane's last birthday – that had been very clearly _for_ someone. This... this was more like a ballad. On top of which, something tugged at her mind.

“Never believed that/ anyone would try/ that included me/ alone and lonely, cried/ cried for things that/ I couldn't have/ because to get them/ I'd have to be brave/ stuck in my fear/ running/ running/ running away again/” Trent kept on. “I wasn't strong enough/ to risk being brave/ risking my heart/ instead of hiding it/ deep in a cold, dark cave/ but then you turned/ smiled and looked my way/ stuck in a whirl/ turning/ turning/ turning around again/”

There wasn't any part of the room that had been set up as an actual stage, but the light fixture was right above where Trent was, and behind him the open curtains revealed that it was getting seriously dark outside.

As far as Daria was concerned, the whole world was fading away and just leaving Trent and his guitar.

“I didn't deserve your smile/ but you still looked my way/ held out your hand/ to guide this stray/ you gave me strength/ courage and hope/ you said I was more/ than just some useless dope/ stuck in a daze/ walking/ walking/ walking forwards again/”

The tempo changed slightly, and Trent threw in a modulation (that is, he changed key).

“Now I've got hope/ for a future with you/ you're the light of my life/ making my dreams come true/ and I'm stuck/ stuck on you/ I hope you don't mind/ but I'm completely in love with you/” Trent sang, and smiled at her, eyes soft and focused on her, just her, as though the rest of the world didn't exist for him either. “I hope you don't mind/ but I'm completely in love/ totally in love/ utterly in love/ happily in love/ madly in love/ crazy in love/ just plain in love/ in love/ in love/ in love/ I'm in love with you.”

The last echo of the final chord faded slowly, and no one so much as breathed, too struck by the emotion of the song Trent had just performed. For Daria.

Trent stopped the recording, set his guitar aside, and stepped up to the birthday girl.

“It's come a long way from tea-leaves and kitchen gloves,” he said.

Daria's eyes widened. It was _that_ song? All the way back _then_ he'd...

Trent smiled at her, then he bent down and kissed her.

Jane cheered loudly, which set off the rest of the group. After all, if Jane approved of her brother and best friend kissing, then they weren't going to object. Besides, she was legal now.

“Happy birthday Daria,” Trent said softly when they finally parted.

Daria was flushed, but happy. So happy she pulled him back for another kiss. Which got even more cheered and roaring approval, until finally Jane teasingly yelled at them: “Get a room, love-birds!”

~lalaLAlala~

“... and the doctor said that Sandi's leg will be in a cast for at least a  _ month _ ,” Quinn told them at the dinner table. She sighed and relaxed back into her chair. “Am I a horrible friend for being relieved? I love Sandi, I do, but she's also so... domineering. She's said she doesn't want to see anyone while she'd got her cast on. It'll be time off.”

“I still don't understand why you let her walk all over you the way you do,” Daria answered. “You were never that submissive before we came to Lawndale. A little passive and a people-pleaser, yes, but not out-and-out submissive.”

“She's president of the Fashion Club,” Quinn said, as though that explained everything.

“And of all its members, apart from yourself, I have only observed Stacy to be someone worth knowing for longer than it took to punish Tom for cheating on Jane,” Daria countered frankly, “and my first experience of Stacy was of her bawling her eyes out on the Ferris Wheel at the medieval fair last year.”

“They're all still my friends, Daria,” Quinn replied firmly. “And... any of them on their own isn't so great, but as a collective, it _works_.”

Daria shrugged. “Okay,” she allowed. “So, what will the Fashion Club do about the weight gain?”

“What weight gain?” Quinn asked, confused.

“If Sandi's leg is in a cast, she's not going to be able to get about the way she normally would. Chances are she'll spend a lot of time sitting around, doing nothing, and she'll probably put on weight,” Daria explained.

Quinn's eyes widened. “Oh my gosh! Daria, you're right! Well... we'll stick by her,” Quinn decided. “We'll help her get back to being thin again after the cast comes off.”

“That's very loyal of you Quinn,” Helen praised with a smile.

“That's not the half of it,” Quinn answered. “We all also agreed that, while Sandi's leg is in a cast and she's unable to go out, in a show of Fashion Club solidarity, none of the members of the Fashion Club will be going on dates.”  
Helen blinked. It was well-known in the house how important Quinn's social life was to her.

“Even more time to study,” Daria stated.

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed softly. “Though probably a whole lot more phone calls from guys _asking_ for dates.”

The next evening, Jake proved that he had been so completely involved in what he was reading in the newspaper that he hadn't heard the conversation.

The doorbell rang, and as he headed for the door, he called out, “Qui-inn, your date is here!”

The person on the other side of the door heard, and raised an eyebrow at Jake when the man opened his front door.

“Um... Trent?” Jake greeted in surprise.

“I don't _have_ a date tonight Daddy,” Quinn informed him as she came down the stairs.

“I do,” Daria added as she appeared behind her sister. It was going to be her first 'official' date with Trent, and he was taking her out for dinner, though he hadn't said where. “Hi Trent,” she greeted with a smile when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” he replied, and brought out a hand from behind his back. A hand holding a single red rose, thorns already thoughtfully removed by the florist. “Ready?”

“No, she isn't,” Quinn said firmly, at the same time as Daria answered “Yeah.”

“Daria! You _can't_ go on a date in just a boring pair of jeans and your orange t-shirt!” Quinn objected.

“She's right,” Trent agreed. “You should probably have a jacket too. The nights are getting colder, and it's not like there'll be heating where we're going.”

Trent himself was wearing a pair of jeans that _didn't_ have a hole in them (it was slightly surprising to learn he _had_ jeans that were so undamaged, even if she knew all his suits were perfectly kept), and he had a plain, faded jacket pulled on over his faded green t-shirt.

“Aha, a hint,” Daria declared with a smile as she plucked the rose from Trent's hand. “I'll stick this in some water while I grab my jacket,” she promised. She rose on her toes to kiss Trent's cheek, then rocked back onto her heels with a smile. “Be right back.”

Trent nodded, a content smile on his face as he watched her go.

“Where are you taking Daria that _that_ is appropriate dress?” Quinn demanded.

“Picnic dinner,” Trent replied simply.

“Oh,” Quinn said, appeased, if also surprised.

Daria returned, her usual green jacket in place, and happily accepted Trent's arm as he walked her to his car.

“Trent? And Daria?” Jake asked softly, still standing at the door as he watched the Plymouth drive off, thoroughly confused.

Quinn rolled her eyes. “ _Yes_ , Daddy!” she answered, much more able to accept this new change in the way things were. It wasn't really that much of a surprise. She'd always known that boys and girls couldn't be 'just friends', which was how Daria had first described Trent. Quinn had watched too many romantic comedies to believe any relationship described that way would stay that way for long. “Even Daria was going to start dating some time!”

~lalaLAlala~

Trent drove out to a park that, in all of Daria's three years of living in Lawndale, she hadn't ever really noticed. Jesse was waiting for them. He was guarding a picnic table that had been laid out with a red-and-white checked tablecloth and a couple of candles. There was even a little black vase with another red rose in it, right in the middle of the table.

“Cool, you're here,” Jesse greeted. “See ya man.”

“Thanks Jess,” Trent answered, and waved his friend off.

Daria raised an eyebrow at Trent in silent question.

“Well, it wouldn't have been as romantic if we'd had to lay it out ourselves when we got here,” Trent pointed out with a smile.

Daria shook her head in amusement, but she _was_ enjoying this. She honestly hadn't expected Trent to take her out to that place Quinn went with her dates all the time. _Chez Pierre_ was, as Daria understood it, an expensive place to dine, and both Lane siblings were saving up to go to college in another city as soon as Jane and Daria were graduated. Quite aside from the savings that would be their base to start up the art house. Still, she hadn't expected anything like this either.

“It's wonderful,” she said.

“Best part is under the table,” Trent confided, and pulled out a couple of insulated boxes. From the first, Trent produced sodas for them both. Daria wasn't old enough to drink yet, not legally, and he'd never really liked the taste of beer anyway. From the second, Trent pulled out one large bowl of spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, and two forks.

Daria laughed softly as she took one of the forks and sat down. “This is wonderful Trent,” she told him happily.

“I'm glad you like it,” he answered. “Fair warning though, I think Janey is hiding in the bushes with a sketchpad, maybe a camera.”

Daria shook her head. “I don't care,” she decided. “No, that's not true. I _do_ care. I want to see the pictures when she's done, if she is.”

Trent smiled, glad the idea didn't put her off.

The sounds of an accordion and a mandolin crooned out from within one of the nearby bushes, proving that either Jane or Jesse (or both) were back there, and more, that they had a portable CD player. Once the two instruments got past the introduction, the couple were treated to a deep, crooning voice singing  _Bella Notte_ , the iconic romantic song of Disney's  _Lady and the Tramp_ .

The couple shared a look, then laughed for a moment before settling down and enjoying their date – even  _with_ the audience in the bushes. After all, it really was a beautiful night.


	40. Chapter 40

_Hope must feel that the human breast is amazingly tolerant._ \- Henry Haskins

~lalaLAlala~

“Hey Daria, we got invitations to a five-year reunion at Camp Grizzly,” Quinn called excitedly as she hustled into the kitchen with the mail.

“What a shame, I'm busy that day,” Daria answered with flat sarcasm. She kept up the newspaper she was reading as a wall between them.

“I haven't even told you when it is yet,” Quinn objected.

“I don't care,” Daria replied evenly as she turned the page. “If I don't already have plans, then I will _make_ plans. I hated that place when we were sent there, and I have no desire to return. And if you recall, Camp Grizzly was where you first called me your cousin, instead of owning up to the fact we're actually sisters.”

Quinn winced at the reminder. “Right,” she said softly. “I'd forgotten about that. Um... I'll just go up on my own.”

Daria nodded. “You do that. Impress all your old camp friends with your purple Mustang,” she recommended.

“They  _ will _ be impressed,” Quinn agreed with a smirk. “But not just with that. I'm going to go up there and say loudly all the things you grumble quietly, and I'm going to admit to them all that I lied about our relationship.”

Daria blinked, lowered the paper, and blinked again at her sister's expression. “You'd really do that?” she asked.

Quinn nodded. “You've taught me a lot since we moved here Daria,” the younger sister admitted softly, and a little sheepishly. “You taught me that I didn't have to be dumb, or shallow, and that I can really make something of myself if I put in the effort.”

Daria smiled. It seemed she had been having that effect on a few people since the move. She would never have believed herself to become such a force for good. “And all because I negotiated a B-straight average in exchange for my silence a couple of years ago.”

“It was probably the best thing you could have done for me,” Quinn agreed. “However much I hated it at the time.”

“Well... you're welcome, I guess,” Daria offered. “And have fun at the reunion.”

Quinn giggled. “I'll kick Skip in his Camp Grizzly Pride for you,” she promised. “And the rest of them in their 'follower mentality'.”

“Even the girls you made friends with there?” Daria queried.

“Especially them,” Quinn affirmed with a wry smile.

“Thank you.”

“It will be good practice for when I eventually get up the guts to tell Sandi and the Fashion Club to stick their shallowness and go ahead and fail at life, but like hell I'm going to fail with them, dammit!”

Daria smirked with pride and raised her newspaper once more.

~lalaLAlala~

The thing about Daria's idea to start up an art house that was equal parts gallery, recording label, book publicist, and creative studios... well, they had art ready to go up in the gallery, and music being composed just about every day, but nothing resembling literature was even vaguely ready to be released to the masses.

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true.

Daria had some interesting essays, and among her many short stories there was the tale of Melody Powers. She could probably expand on that one. Maybe do a series of short stories. Anything that was serialised and not too thick tended to sell fairly well to the minority of teens and tweens who actually _liked_ to read. It was something to collect as well, which was part of the selling point for that kind of story.

Failing that, she could publish her poetry.

With a sigh, Daria set her guitar aside completely, set her idea-filled notebooks next to the computer, and prepared to write some prose. She could not and would not use people she knew in these stories – she had no desire to face a libel suit – but there was nothing to stop her from using the stereotypes that they could fit in to, and manipulating them.

After a solid hour of writing, Daria's alarm went off. Quickly, she saved her progress, grabbed her keys, and just about ran down the stairs. She had a date with Jane, a box of popcorn, and a Croatian comedy at the Cinplex.

“Once he gave her _herpes_ she didn't think anyone else would want her?!” Helen exclaimed into the phone as Daria headed out the door. “Daria? Where are you going?” she asked quickly.

“Movie with Jane,” Daria answered as she shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” Jane called when Daria reached the Cinplex, and waved her over. “I was starting to get worried. Cutting it kinda close, weren't you _Amiga_?” she asked as they joined the line.

“Got caught up writing,” Daria admitted.

“New song?” Jane asked. “I mean poem. You don't write songs.”

Daria shook her head. “Actually, I was working on prose,” she said, then smirked. “The continuing adventures of Melody Powers. I figure I can make good money selling Melody Powers in a similar way the way the Scholastic Corporation book series are done.”

“You mean those skinny-ass books with the bright paper-back covers? The ones that have simply-drawn pictures every ten or twenty pages?” Jane checked.

“A self-contained story that's really just one chapter of the over-arching tale,” Daria corrected. “But that too,” she allowed.

Then they were at the front of the line and paying for their movie tickets.

“You know, comic books are even shorter and more expensive,” Jane offered. “If you want some help with a comic book version of Melody Powers to go to print, I wouldn't mind helping out,” she stated with a smirk.

Daria smirked back. “And I'll _also_ do a full and proper _novel_ version, for adults who still read for pleasure to slowly work their way through, but that will be a bit different from the serialised version and the comic books,” she agreed.

“That's the spirit!”

~lalaLAlala~

“Um, Daria, Honey,” Helen said tentatively. “What's this I hear about you dating Trent?”

“So much for private phone conversations,” Daria quipped as she hung up.

Trent had just called her about taking her out on another date. They still hung out as much as they ever did, but now they also added official sorts of dates to the mix – and that meant that Trent called her, made sure she didn't have other plans, and asked to take her out somewhere.

Since their first date (the candle-lit picnic in the park), Trent had taken Daria to a nearby church hall where there were free dance lessons being given (Daria was surprised how much fun she'd had with that, after she'd gotten over her surprise that Trent had even thought of it), to the zoo (just the two of them, humming Simon and Garfunkle's _At the Zoo_ for most of the time they were there), and he'd even taken her to see an art film.

The date they'd just arranged was to go to the beach on Friday evening – the forecast promised rain, so they'd be the only ones there – and they'd have fish and chips when they got sick of sitting on the pier together under a shared umbrella.

Or else couldn't stand the cold any more. That would probably come first.

“Daria,” Helen pressed.

“Trent waited until I was eighteen to ask me out, and he's being a gentleman besides that,” Daria answered her mother flatly.

Helen still looked a bit tense. “It's just... your cousin Erin is...”

“Comparisons to vaguely-estranged cousins are even less appreciated than comparisons to siblings,” Daria informed her mother with narrowed eyes.

“I know you're nothing like Erin,” Helen assured her daughter. “She hasn't had anything like the same advantages you and your sister have. Still, when my only niece makes certain decisions, I can't help but worry that my daughters might make similar decisions.”

“Erin married a man that _tells_ people he works in intelligence,” Daria pointed out. “Trent paid off a mortgage all by himself before he was even twenty-three.”

Helen smiled a little at the reminder. “He did, didn't he? Alright,” she conceded. “Just... don't feel as though you have to rush into anything... especially anything physical.”

Daria rolled her eyes and headed up to her room. She had prose to write. Melody Powers couldn't save the world _all_ by herself.

“Sweetie...” Helen tried.

“Just because Trent was in a rock band -”  
“Was?”

“It broke up,” Daria answered. “Just because he was in a rock band _doesn't_ mean that Trent's doing all the stereotypical things that guys in rock bands do. Trent, despite all appearances to the contrary, is a responsible adult. And so am I.”

Helen sighed. “I know,” she admitted. “I'm sorry, Honey. I just... I'm your mother. Worrying about you is part of the job description.”

~lalaLAlala~

Daria and Jane exchanged a “do we really want to know?” look when they spotted Upchuck peeping in through the keyhole of Ms Li's office door.

“Ooh, I like what I'm seeing,” the boy crooned to himself.

“Ms Li changing her support hose again?” Jane asked, unable to let her curiosity rest.

“That's another habit that will lead to blindness Upchuck,” Daria scolded.

“Only in this case, you'll wish for it,” Jane finished.

“Your concern touches me ladies,” Upchuck answered with a smile as he stood from his peeping-post. “But we've got a cat and dog fight here. _Me-ouch_!” he said, with that little claw-gesture he usually made when he dubbed a girl 'feisty' after they'd rejected his advances. “And it's about to get strike-o-licious.”

“Strike?” Jane repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “As in, no teachers?”

Those few words caused every student in hearing range to alter course and come stand with them, hoping to hear that the teachers _would_ go on strike. After all, if there were no teachers, then there could be no class.

A few seconds passed until, through the door, Mr DeMartino could be heard.

“We strike!”

A number of the students that had gathered cheered as the teachers marched out of Ms Li's office, clearly _not_ heading for their classes. Cheering that was halted when Ms Li turned on the PA system to make a school-wide announcement.

“Students of Lawndale High, your attention please.”

“Is that the voice in my head that tells me to kill and kill again?” Jane queried sardonically.

“No,” Daria replied. “Satan's voice is lower and he has an English accent.”

“In an unprecedented show of spine, I mean, _spite_ , your teachers have announced a strike!” Ms Li declared. “However, school _will_ continue, just as before.”

A school-wide groan sounded out.

Daria and Jane shared a long glance.

“I'll believe it when Mr DeMartino's identical twin starts teaching history class,” Daria stated flatly.

“Thank you for not suggesting there could somewhere exist a second Mr O'Neill,” Jane quipped back.

“You had to say it.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Class, you may have noticed, I'm not your usual teacher,” said the old woman at the front of the room when she'd finished shakily writing her name on the board. Her voice wasn't scratchy, breathy, or creaky, but it _did_ modulate in a regular pattern. Measured and dull. “For our first lesson, let's learn each other's names. I'm Mrs Stoller.”

“Got it!” Kevin said with a smile. “Man, this class is gonna be a breeze!”

“And you are?” Mrs Stoller asked.

“I'm the QB!” Kevin answered with a grin and a thumb jerked at his chest.

“Posture, QB. Posture,” Mrs Stoller scolded lightly.

Kevin frowned and sat up straight in his chair, surprised by the scolding.

Daria rolled her eyes, but kept the quip she wanted to make behind her teeth. It would be wasted on the current teacher. She'd share it with Jane later.

~lalaLAlala~

“And my Language Arts substitute wouldn't stop talking about this stupid novel he's writing,” Quinn complained when they both got home. “About some professor who's dating a budding child-woman because he wants to blossom her?” she continued, unimpressed.

Daria wasn't all that impressed either. Nor had she been for her short period of time stuck in a classroom with him.

“And _then_ he started acting out his stupid book for us, stroking Tiffany's hair and telling her about his anguished soul,” Quinn said.

Daria reached for the phone. Their mother had been within hearing range of that entire exposition after all.

“What?! He was _stroking Tiffany's hair_?!” Helen exclaimed.

“I know,” Quinn continued with deliberate obliviousness. “Like Tiffany would ever date someone who wore a tweed jacket.”

“Daria! Get me the- thank you,” she said, and accepted the cordless that Daria held out for her.

Ms Li summoned Daria into her office, rather angrily, over the PA the next day. Daria was silently glad to leave Mrs Stoller's class behind, and carefully didn't look behind her as she left. She knew that if she did, she would see the curious gaze of every one of her classmates on her. One or two might have pity in their gazes as well, if they feared for what might happen to the student so furiously summoned, but most of them were quietly curious. A few wished they were being given an excuse to leave though.

Their teacher was _asleep_ at the front of the room, but they still weren't allowed to leave.

Damn Ms Li for installing new surveillance cameras in the halls over the summer break.


	41. Chapter 41

_Lying is an indispensable part of making life tolerable._ \- Bergan Evans

~lalaLAlala~

“Ms Morgendorffer, I want you to take over the teaching position for the Language Arts classes until Mr O'Neill can return to his post,” Ms Li informed Daria once she'd taken a seat.

“No thanks,” Daria countered evenly.

“If someone asked _me_ to teach a class, I'd be _honoured_ ,” Ms Li stated. “Besides, we wouldn't be in this fix if it weren't for _your mother_ ,” she continued peevishly.

“Yeah. Hire one paedophile and she gets all bent out of shape,” Daria agreed flatly. “Ms Li, you just said it yourself, if someone asked _you_ to teach a class, you'd be _honoured_ , and frankly, I don't need the stigma. So, here I am, asking. Why don't _you_ teach the class?”

“I don't have time,” Ms Li answered plainly. “I'm an administrator, and I've got to deal with the strike being conducted by your regular teachers.”

“I'm not thinking of me when I say no. I'm thinking of the children,” Daria answered. In particular, she was thinking of Quinn. It was a chance to mildly humiliate her, but alternately, it was a chance to totally humiliate her peers and alienate Quinn from them as a consequence. Hmm... tempting, but she had to maintain her reputation as completely mercenary.

“Ms Morgendorffer, what will it take to get you teaching that class?” Ms Li demanded in a hiss.

“What is the hourly rate that the teachers are picketing for right now?” Daria countered smoothly.

Ms Li's eyes flared in fury, but she had leverage, she was sure she did.

Daria walked out of Ms Li's office happy with the salary she was to be paid – in cash – and Ms Li walked out satisfied that she had someone to teach the class, though simultaneously unhappy that she was paying an unqualified substitute the same salary that her striking teachers were demanding from her. At least she wasn't required to give the girl any _benefits_ beyond getting out of gym class for the rest of the semester and giving the girl credit for an extra-curricular activity.

The girl was even more mercenary than her lawyer mother, and had managed to drag the negotiating out until there was only one period of class left that day.

~lalaLAlala~

“Attention young people!” Ms Li said as she entered the classroom ahead of Daria. “Mr Edwards will no longer be teaching you, due to... reasons,” she hesitated. Then ploughed on. “But! I am proud to introduce a substitute with tolerable credentials who is less likely to engender a lawsuit that could cost me my very pants,” Ms Li continued, and gestured for Daria to come in.

“Hello,” Daria said as she stepped into the open doorway. “My name is Miss Morgendorffer, and I'll be your new substitute teacher.”

Ms Li then left Daria on her own with the class.

“Alright,” Daria said, pre-empting any chance for them to ask her questions. “Now, had Mr O'Neill assigned you a book or a play recently?”

Quinn raised her hand.

“I'll let you take this one, but after that I want to see how much the _rest_ of your peers remember,” Daria allowed with a nod.

“Ugh,” Quinn teasingly grunted back in fake disgust. Not that anybody else would have gotten the joke, or that she was joking at all. “He assigned us a play,” she said.

Daria nodded in gratitude. “Thank you,” she answered. “Now, who can remember anything about this play? Apart from Quinn.”

“I'm pretty sure the title _didn't_ have the word 'alien' in it,” offered a boy who sat in the front row, he was snickering at the same time, like he was being funny by being deliberately unhelpful.

“So it's a play and probably doesn't have the word 'alien' in the title,” Daria allowed seriously, and turned her gaze to another section of the classroom. “Does anybody remember anything else?”

“Uh... I think the guy on the cover was wearing tights,” offered one of the boys whose names started with J and were always following Quinn around. The one with the black hair.

“Hmm, since there are no _wrestling_ dramas on the syllabus, I'm guessing Shakespeare,” Daria affirmed.

“Wait I remember now!” said another of the J's. The one with brown hair. “He's a stalker! He follows girls home from parties and peeks in their windows!”

“Romeo and Juliet,” Daria stated with a nod. She remembered Kevin complaining about that one, back before Brittany had dumped him and discovered the liberties of single life. She'd been hoping they'd have reached Macbeth by now, but she was already in a bad position, so of course it couldn't get better.

Oh, but at least she had a reprieve. The bell had just sounded, and she – and the class – were released to the end of the day.

Daria unfortunately decided she would have to stop by the picket-line. It would probably be easier to get the lesson plans for the other classes she was going to have to cover from O'Neill himself, rather than teasing it out of the students. It would also likely be infinitely safer than sifting her way through the man's office for the files.

~lalaLAlala~

“So, what kept you in Li's office for so long?” Jane asked when the two friends were finally reunited by Daria's locker. “I looked for you in the breaks between classes.”

“We were negotiating my contract,” Daria answered. “I'm taking over all of Mr O'Neill's classes.”

Jane's eyebrows shot up as she blinked in surprise at that piece of news. “You're what?”

“I know,” Daria said lowly, disappointed in herself. “I've become a scab. On the other hand, I can't do worse than O'Neill.”

“That's certainly true,” Jane agreed. “Hey, will you even be teaching _our_ class?” she enquired, curious to know how bad Daria's situation really was.

“Unless the strike is declared over before fourth period tomorrow,” Daria replied. “My instructions are to get through the current item on the syllabus and give a test. Now let's get out of here. Trent is picking us up, and I need pizza.”

“Amen to that,” Jane said with a firm nod.

“Cover me boys!” Mr DeMartino yelled as Daria and Jane reached the picket line. “I'm goin' in!”

“He'll never make it without direct air support,” Daria remarked.

“Agreed. Hey, there's Trent, let's go before we get any more caught up in this madness than you already are,” Jane said, pointing to the dark Plymouth and tugging Daria past the teachers.

~lalaLAlala~

“You're _teaching_?” Trent asked when they settled into a booth at Pizza King. “Bummer.”

“I'm getting paid,” Daria countered. “And I'm taking over for Mr O'Neill, so it's not _too_ bad. I'm still a scab and hating it though.”

Trent nodded. “Yeah, bummer.”

“What's an unqualified substitute teacher get paid these days, anyway?” Jane asked.

“I don't know about the _rest_ of the teachers, but I'm getting paid at an hourly rate that has Ms Li blowing steam out of her ears,” Daria answered with a smirk. “She'll cave to the teachers soon enough. Probably not before I have to hand out tests though.”

“Ouch,” Jane offered.

“I will be given definitive proof of just how stupid our fellow students are,” Daria agreed with a nod. “And I'll have to grade them.”

~lalaLAlala~

“What does 'woe' mean?” asked one of the J's when the class had finished reading the play.

“It's that feeling you'd get if the Superbowl were pre-empted by Antiques Roadshow,” Daria answered.

“ _Woah_!” exclaimed another of the J's.

“See?”

“Quinn, are you taking notes?” asked Stacy.

Daria looked over to that corner of the room. She did try to be more attentive to what was going on in the classroom than Mr O'Neill had, and Stacy was twisted around in her seat so that she could talk to Quinn, who sat behind her.

Likely, she'd turned around to talk about something else, but had forgotten it in favour of that line of questioning.

“Yeah,” Quinn answered, easily and unashamed. “After my P-Stat score last year, I figured that _taking_ notes in class would help my grade more than _passing_ notes.”

“A good mentality,” Daria agreed. “Since now that you've read the play, tomorrow you take the test.”

An unhappy moan from the whole class answered her.

“Sorry,” she told them with a shrug. “Orders from above. I suggest you look over the play, and any notes you may have taken, again tonight to make sure you understand it.”

The bell rang.

“Class dismissed.”

Quinn waited in her chair while all of her classmates left, only getting up when she and Daria were the only ones left in the room.

“Sandi's going to bug me to bug you to make the test easier,” Quinn informed her elder sister.

“You're not going to try and defend the stupid to me, are you?” Daria questioned.

Quinn shook her head. “No,” she said with a slight sigh. “I  _am_ going to let Sandi know that I've got pictures of her with braces, though. And if she accuses me of getting a better score on the test because we're sisters, then I  _will_ set her straight.”

“The time has come?” Daria suggested.

“The walrus said, to talk of many things,” Quinn answered with a nod. “Like the fact that I'm no longer so insecure that I feel the need to lie about having a big sister, and I'm also not so stupid and shallow any more that I can't tell that that same big sister is actually really cool.”

“Just as long as you don't tell other people that I'm cool,” Daria requested with a slightly flattered smirk. “Please. I have my own reputation to uphold.”

Quinn chuckled. “Sure,” she allowed.

~lalaLAlala~

“People of Mars!” Ms Li called out over the PA just as Daria finished handing back the last of the tests she'd had to grade. “I mean, students of Lawndale High! This is your leader, uh, principle. What was I saying? Oh! The teachers, the teachers. The strike's over! Your teachers will be _back_ tomorrow! Good nigh- day.”

Daria raised an eyebrow behind her glasses. So that's what Ms Li sounded like when she wasn't fully lucid. Much as she and Jane had agreed not to slip any of the berries to the unsuspecting after O'Neill had that allergic reaction, Daria suddenly couldn't help but wonder what Ms Li would be like under their affects.

“Um, Ms Morgendorffer?” spoke up one of the J's, hand raised.

Daria nodded to him, indicating that he could both speak freely and lower his arm.

“I think you were, um, you were a pretty good teacher,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks, Joey, Jeffy, or Jamie,” Daria answered. “For the record, some of you _aren't_ half-bad students. You know who you are.”

Quinn smiled back.


	42. Chapter 42

_If people have to choose between freedom and sandwiches, they will take sandwiches._ \- Lord Boyd-Orr

~lalaLAlala~

“Okay, so I had this idea,” Jane started.

“There's a dangerous sentence,” Daria quipped.

“We made music videos for the Spiral, which is no more, but we don't have any for _you_ ,” Jane said, enlightening her friend as to what passed for thought in the confines of her mind. “Or for Trent in his new solo status, for that matter.”

“I think he might still do the duelling guitars thing with Jesse,” Daria offered. “That could be interesting.”

“Maybe, but I'm thinking the gazebo and a smoke machine,” Jane countered.

“Don't have the smoke machine _too_ near the gazebo. Wouldn't want the musician to be coughing up a lung on the smoke,” Daria pointed out.

“What do you _really_ think, Daria?” Jane asked.

Daria sighed. “Alright,” she agreed. “Damn me and my willingness to be a martyr to your art.”

Jane grinned. “That's the spirit! Do you think you'd still fit that dress you wore to your cousin's wedding? It would be cool to get more use out of it, and with the smoke machine and the guitar in the gazebo, it could really work.”

“If it doesn't, then the dress you made me for the medieval fair should,” Daria answered.

“Ooh,” Jane cooed as creative ideas danced before her mind's eye. “Yeah, that will be totally awesome. I can see it now... I'm going to need to make you a twelve-string lute for this.”

“Lute will sound different to a guitar,” Daria pointed out.

“So? Trent's little 'soprano guitar' that I made out of a ukulele doesn't sound like a regular guitar either,” Jane pointed out. “I'm going to have _way_ too much fun with that camera Brittany gave you for your birthday.”

“Yes, you have fun with my birthday present, and I'll suffer on the other side of it,” Daria suggested sarcastically.

“Oh come on Daria, it won't be that bad,” Jane promised. “And you'll get to nookie with Trent when you're done.”

“You're not filming that,” Daria informed her friend.

“Damn.”

Daria smirked.

~lalaLAlala~

After Jane had filmed one music video of Daria quietly playing her twelve-string (guitar, Jane couldn't make a lute  _that_ fast, especially when she had a gazebo to decorate) they pulled out a couple of the more heavy-duty amplifiers and set them up around the structure.

Trent was then plugged in, and Jane pressed the record button.

The first chord literally shook the gazebo.

It was fortunate that Trent wasn't  _in_ the gazebo, but rather standing just in front of it, or he'd have to have been rushed to the hospital when the second chord caused the structure to completely collapse – and all with the mist of the smoke machine around his feet, and the light fading behind him.

Trent turned to look behind him.

“Woah. Okay. In that case, this one is called _Final Toll_ ,” Trent told them, and beat out a riff. “Each night I ring my death-knell/ and hope to God I'm right/ a solemn toll that I send out/ rolling through the night/ Only I can hear it/ a masochistic tune/ but sometimes there's an echo/ coming back from 'cross the moon/ I think God doesn't like/ how often I make it ring/ but what reason is there left to me?/ what cause for me to sing?/ The world's goin' to hell/ so before the judgement day/ I'll be ringing/ ringing my death-knell/ I'll be ringing/ ringing my death-knell!”

“Post-apocalyptic music for a collapsed gazebo,” Jane quipped as she stopped the recording. “It works. I didn't know you had that kind of tortured soul, Trent.”

Trent shook his head. “I don't,” he answered. “Not any more. That was an old song. Used to be in the Spiral's second set material. I re-worked it after we broke up.”

“It was good,” Daria complimented. “And with the collapsed gazebo and the smoke machine off to the side, it really worked.”

“Oh my God, the gazebo!” a voice yelled in horror.

“Wind?” Jane questioned.

“Who?” Daria asked. She wasn't  _ completely _ familiar with all the members of the scattered Lane family. She knew about Summer (who had runaway children) and Penny (who Ms Morris drove out of the country), but she wasn't quite so sure about this person.

“Older brother,” Trent answered. “So mainstream he pays two alimony cheques a month.”

“Ah, now I remember,” Daria agreed with a nod.

“Wind, what are you doing here?” Jane demanded.

“Katie's locked herself in the kitchen for some personal time, and our marriage counsellor says I should respect that, but I'm  _ hungry _ ,” the man explained wetly and with a plaintive, begging plea.

“And you came  _ here _ for food, rather than stopping at a burger joint?” Jane demanded, and folded her arms over her chest, clearly not pleased.

“Um... yes?”

“I should break your nose,” Jane informed her eldest brother darkly.

“Don't do that,” Trent objected. “He's family. He can have something from the fridge in the kitchen.”

There were actually a couple of fridges in the kitchen. The shiny metal-fronted one had bio-hazard tape plastered over the front of it and a padlock on a chain through the handles. That was the  _ safe _ one. Jane, Trent, and Daria all had keys to the padlock. The  _ other _ fridge was plain, undecorated, had been in the kitchen longer than the other, and quite apart from the suspicious red stain, it was an incubator for  _ real _ bio-hazards. The shiny fridge just had the bio-hazard tape on it to keep everybody else out.

“I think there's some week-old takeaway in there,” Trent offered Wind.

“But... what about the naming gazebo?” Wind asked. “I couldn't live with myself if such an intrinsic part of my identity were gone!”

“Well that's too bad,” Trent said plainly. “Because it  _ is _ gone.”

Wind sniffled pitifully, but went inside, took the possibly poisonous Chinese from the dangerous fridge, and left. Jane had to hustle him the whole way to make sure he didn't hang around. She had very little patience for Wind's crying, especially over his love-life or the changes they were making to the home  _ he didn't live in any more _ .

~lalaLAlala~

“Oh, a package arrived for you while you were out,” Quinn informed Daria about half-way through her monologue over a fashion show she'd been watching with the Fashion Club earlier that day. It seemed that they were capable of loyalty even in the face of one of their number having a scab for an older sister.

“Did this package grow legs of its own and wander off?” Daria questioned.

“No,” Quinn answered. “It's still on the hall stand by the door.”

Daria took the opportunity to excuse herself from the dinner table before she was forced to taste Jake's latest attempt to cook something he got out of a foreign language cook-book that he couldn't even properly understand.

When she returned, Helen was heating up a frozen lasagne in the oven and Jake was scraping the bowl out into the bin.

“So, what is it?” Quinn asked.

Daria tore open the packaging and blinked in surprise. “Trent found me a first edition,” she noted softly. “He...”

“He got you a _used_ book?” Quinn demanded, not impressed.

“A collectors item,” Daria explained as she gently ran a hand over the worn leather cover.

Quinn didn't hear her though. “What kind of boyfriend  _is_ he? Though, I guess the Lanes don't really go in for new  _anything_ .”

“He's the sort of boyfriend who cares enough to know what's important to Daria,” Helen said plainly. “I suppose he found it on the internet?” Helen queried in Daria's direction.

“No,” Daria answered softly. “Trent will have scoured every garage sale, used book store, and possibly even the city dump to find me this,” she corrected. “He puts in genuine leg-work, rather than the metaphorical kind.”

“What is the book anyway?” Helen enquired, curious.

“Thoreau's _Walden_ ,” Daria announced with a smile.

“Well, _lots_ of guys care about me,” Quinn declared, drawing conversation back to herself. “I don't know why anybody would settle for just _one_.”

“Quinn, it's a special thing to find someone so compatible you want to see them exclusively,” Helen reprimanded lightly. “Having a steady boyfriend takes maturity and perspective.”

“No,” Daria corrected before Quinn could object to the unintended slight that she _wasn't_ mature. “It takes good luck to find the right guy at the right time, and willingness to be flexible about certain issues if they threaten your commitment.”

“Have you and Trent had a fight?” Helen asked, surprised.

Daria shook her head. “No,” she answered. “We don't fight. In the event that we stumble across an issue we disagree over, we will sit down over pizza and talk it out. We made that agreement early, since we didn't want it to ever be awkward for Jane.”

“Hmm, being caught in the middle between her best friend and her brother _would_ be awkward,” Helen agreed. “But now that I think about it, your father and I haven't really gotten a chance to _get to know_ Trent.”

“He and Jane stayed over for a couple of days not that long ago,” Daria pointed out plainly, choosing to omit that 'not that long ago' had been well before summer break.

“He wasn't your boyfriend then,” Helen replied firmly. “You should invite him over for dinner some time.”

“Can I bring a boyfriend too?” Quinn asked.

“If and when you get a steady boyfriend, Quinn, we'd _love_ to have him for dinner,” Helen said to her youngest with a smile.

“But why would you _want_ to?” Daria countered with a frown. “The dinner where the boyfriend 'meets the parents' is a warning-sign. It's their last chance to run away screaming before they are expected to commit. Fully.”

“Oh nonsense!” Helen dismissed with a smile and a wave. “It's perfectly normal for boyfriends to be introduced to the family _long_ before any sort of commitment is made beyond just going steady,” she declared. “Goodness knows _Rita_ brought home _four_ boyfriends before she met little Erin's father,” she added darkly. “And even _they_ didn't stay together.”

“I slave over a hot stove all day, and for what?” Jake demanded as he took the tied-up bin-liner out of the kitchen. He had been present for the conversation, but not listening to it at all.

“It's to keep him off the streets, isn't it?” Daria quipped to Helen, hoping for a change in the direction of the conversation, or perhaps for it to be dropped completely.

It didn't work.

“What night will be good for Trent?” Helen asked.

Daria sighed. Trent had already  _met_ her parents, and he liked and respected them as the people who had raised her. He also never turned down a meal and now that the Spiral was disbanded, he didn't have practice commitments, and his gigs had dried up a bit.

Soloists were alright for filling in between sets, but the Zon and McGrundy's wanted  _bands_ , really,  _not_ solo artists.

“I'll ask,” she conceded. “But beyond that, I make no promises.”

“That's fine, Dear.”

“Oh, and Quinn? If you intend to pick from your three devoted followers, I recommend the one with the brown-ish-red hair for steady boyfriend material,” Daria offered.

“His name is Jeffy,” Quinn supplied.

“He got the best score out of the three of them when I was teaching your class. Also,” Daria added with a wry smirk, “his hair matches yours best.”

Quinn bit her lip to keep from laughing at her sister's dead-pan joke, but the smile still made it through. “Thanks Daria,” she got out, struggling to keep the laughter from her voice. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“According to what little I know of your friends, I suggest handing off the black-haired one-”

“Joey.”

“-to Stacy, and the rather thick blonde-”

“Jamie.”

“-to Tiffany. I think they'll make roughly equivalent matches for mental capacity.”

Quinn couldn't hold the laughter in past that, and let the giggles bubble over.


	43. Chapter 43

_Boys will be boys, and so will a lot of middle-aged men._ \- Frank McKinney 'Kin' Hubbard

~lalaLAlala~

The thing about having been good friends with Trent before they were dating, as well as being best friends with his sister, Daria found it a lot easier to go and just talk to them about the whole mess than to keep it to herself.

“So... an official meet-the-boyfriend dinner,” Jane said when the three of them were in the Lane living room with pizza.

“Yes,” Daria confirmed.

“Even though I've already met them,” Trent continued.

“Yes,” Daria agreed. “Helen's argument was that you weren't my boyfriend when you and Jane stayed with us.”

“And they were both a bit more intent on questioning _me_ as to things about Daria that they wanted to know but didn't feel they could ask her themselves,” Jane added.

“They _what_?” Daria asked, eyes wide behind her glasses.

“They approached me separately,” Jane started. “I gave each of them a maximum of three questions, with no betrayals, and immunity from prosecution. I also asked your dad to talk Helen into a new speed-walking route, since I like to _run_ , and having to slow down for her was _very_ annoying.”

Daria nodded.

“What did they ask?” Trent queried.

“Helen asked if her dear darling eldest was on drugs, depressed, or having sex,” Jane extrapolated.

“That last one should have been obvious,” Daria remarked darkly.

“She said that, and asked for another,” Jane agreed. “But I didn't give it to her. If she was going to ask something _that_ dumb, as a lawyer, then she didn't deserve it. Jake, on the other hand, asked age, height, and favourite colour. He guessed the last one about a second after he said it, and also asked for another question. I was asking him an extra favour, so I gave it to him.”

“What was the bonus?” enquired the smaller girl.

“I think it was a fairly standard concerned-father sort of question,” Jane replied. “He wanted to know if you were happy.”

Daria nodded. “Thank you Jane.”

“No problem. So, this dinner your parents are inviting Trent to...”

“Saturday night should work,” Trent suggested. “Is that alright with you, Janey?”

“Sure,” Jane agreed with a nod. “I'll make some plans, order a pizza.”

“Then it's settled,” Trent declared easily, a smile on his face. “Relax Daria. Helen scares me a bit, but Jake's cool, and they care about you. That's what this is about. Me making a good impression on Helen and Jake, so they won't mind so much about you dating a musical bum who still hasn't gone to college yet.”

“You're _not_ a bum,” Daria protested. Again.

Trent chuckled and kissed her cheek fondly. “You and I know that,” he agreed as he slipped his arms around her waist. “But your parents kinda don't. It's part of the whole thing of reassuring them that I'm okay to have in your life.”

“Trent, how do you even know this?” Jane asked. “I don't remember you ever being invited to meet Monique's parents.”

“I wasn't, but I still met them,” Trent answered coolly. “The first time I carried her back to their house, passed-out from too much under-age drinking. Had to explain that I'd found her that way, rather than caused her condition. They explained all this parental-concerns stuff to me.”

“Is that when you realised you and Monique wouldn't ever work out?” Jane enquired.

Trent shook his head. “No, I knew that for a year already by that point.”

~lalaLAlala~

Quinn  _did_ take Daria's advice, and Jeffy was invited to the same get-to-know-the-boyfriend dinner that Trent was. More than that, for the week leading up to the dinner, Quinn really got to  _enjoy_ the exclusive relationship she was fostering with the boy. It wasn't the same as having a swarm of admirers, but Quinn  _did_ enjoy talking with Jeffy – about a whole range of things. His interests as well as her own.

Daria even came home on Thursday to find them studying together in the lounge room, just quietly looking up from their homework every now and then and smiling at each other. Daria couldn't help but smile to  _herself_ at the sight. They'd be just fine, she was sure. Jeffy had a B minus average (he'd been pleased with the straight B he'd gotten from Daria because he didn't often get them without the minus following close behind) and as a valuable member of the football team was likely to be able to get into a good college on a football scholarship.

“Hello Miss Morgendorffer,” Jeffy greeted with a smile when Quinn let him into the house for the dinner.

“Jeffy, I am no longer your substitute teacher. I'm just another student in my senior year,” Daria said plainly.

“I know,” Jeffy admitted, “but you were still a good teacher while it lasted.”

“And you _are_ dating an older guy,” Quinn added with a smirk. “Speaking of, where _is_ Trent?”

The doorbell rang.

Daria answered it.

“Hey.”

“Hey Trent.”

Trent bent to kiss her cheek and pulled out a black-painted rose for her.

“You really _don't_ need to give me flowers,” Daria told him, though a pleased blush stained her cheeks as she accepted the flower with a smile.

“As long as they keep getting smiles from you, then I will keep surprising you with flowers when I can,” Trent informed her happily.

Quinn couldn't help herself. “A  _black_ rose?” she asked.

“Occasionally, you get red roses so dark they look almost black, but they're hard to find,” Daria half-explained.

“And roses are the traditional flowers of lovers,” Trent added as he slung an arm around Daria's back, hand resting comfortably at her waist. “The different colours mean different sorts of love.”

“And black means?” Jeffy questioned, genuinely curious.

“Pure devotion. Even when you're dead, I'll still love you,” Trent supplied softly as he looked tenderly down at Daria.

“Wow Trent,” Quinn admired. “Wouldn't have really picked you for...”  
“Someone who knows about flower meanings? Or a romantic?” Trent offered with a smirk.

“Well... either, honestly,” Quinn admitted.

“You need to remember, I've got Janey for a sister. She knows all sorts of symbolism for her art,” Trent explained.

“Cool,” Jeffy admired.

“Kids? Dinners ready!” Helen called.

Trent raised an eyebrow. “I don't think I really qualify as a  _kid_ any more,” he stated, though not so loud that Helen would hear.

“I know that Dad will still probably be calling me 'Kiddo' when I'm as old as he is now,” Daria pointed out. “It's nothing personal.”

“I know,” Trent admitted with a smile. “Your dad's cool, and it's actually kind of nice the way Helen still tries to mother people. Even when she isn't _my_ mother, and I'm old enough to be independent.”

~lalaLAlala~

The two couples – three, including Helen and Jake – took their seats at the dining room table.

“I'm so glad you two came over,” Helen said as they started to eat.

“Thanks for inviting us to dinner, Mrs Morgendorffer,” Trent replied.

“Yeah,” Jeffy agreed.

“No problem-o!” Jake declared with a smile. “It's great to have some men around the house. This place could do with a little scratching and sweating now and then, right guys?”

Trent raised one eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth kicked up. “That didn't sound right,” he commented lowly to Daria.

Daria in turn fought back a blush – indeed,  _any_ reaction – at the innuendo her boyfriend had found in her father's words.

“So, what's new, Mr Morgendorffer?” Jeffy asked politely.

“Not much, Jeffy my man, not much,” Jake replied with an easy smile. “Except there's this squirrel. He's been _terrorising_ the neighbourhood. Digging up yards and knocking over trash cans with a single flip of his tail!” he added, with great enthusiasm for the subject and much gesticulation.

“Jake, remember what I said?” Helen prompted with a frown.

“But he asked!” Jake objected.

“I'm with you Mr Morgendorffer,” Trent offered. “We had some squirrels at our house a couple years back. They're as bad as raccoons in their own way. They cleared out after they tried to raid the kitchen fridge though. Don't think they much liked the month-old take-out.”

“I'm surprised they _survived_ the month-old take-out,” Daria quipped.

“Hey now, this was _before_ the fridge got funky,” Trent objected with a smile.

“Jeffy, what are your favourite subjects at school?” Helen asked, trying to distract the conversation from the squirrel that was driving her husband nuts.

“History with Mr D is pretty cool, and when the teachers went on strike, our substitute teacher for Language Arts was really good, well, the second one,” Jeffy answered with confidence, but then he turned to Jake and announced: “I caught a squirrel once.”

“You did? How?” Jake asked.

“They really like peanut butter,” Jeffy supplied informatively.

“Peanut butter! Yeah!” Jake exclaimed. “I bet Thai peanut sauce would work great! And I whipped up a new batch just last night,” he said with a smirk.

“Jake you didn't!” Helen said, her eyes begging for it to not be true.

“I thought I smelled something at breakfast this morning,” Daria quipped. “But I just thought one of the neighbours had died.”

“Good one Daria,” Trent said softly.

“Jake you promised you'd -” Helen started, but then the phone in her pocket rang. “Hello? Eric? This is a bad time, I'm in the middle of a family me- yes of _course_ I knew Unisef's a charity,” she said as she rose from the table.

“There she goes,” Quinn said with a shake of her head.

“Hey Jeffy, do you think you could help me set up a trap?” Jake asked hopefully.

“Sure!” Jeffy agreed.

“Daria, what's happening?” Quinn quietly questioned from across the table.

“Male bonding,” she replied.

“Is that it?” Trent enquired, and pointed out the window.

“Quick! Let's go!” Jake called.

Trent kissed Daria's cheek and slowly rose from his chair as the other two men in the room bolted out. “Male bonding,” he told her with a smile. “Gotta get to know the future in-laws.”

Daria shook her head and waved him off, a smile on her face.

“Okay, I'm going to follow your example and be calm about this,” Quinn decided when it was just the two of them at the dining table.

“It's for the best,” Daria agreed. “Dad _does_ need some guys to spend man-time with, and between your sporty Jeffy and my relaxed Trent, he should have company for most of his manly pursuits from now on. By the way, how's it working out for you?”

Quinn smiled. “Better than I thought it would, actually. Jeffy is really supportive of the fact that I want to go to med school after graduation. Actually, he's interested in doing  _nursing_ , which I think is kind of funny, in an ironic sort of way. But really, it's because he's had to learn so much first aid because of accidents on the field.”

“He doesn't want to be a professional football player?” Daria asked, surprised.

Quinn shook her head. “No, he does, but Jeffy  _also_ knows that even pro footballers retire eventually, and making it to that level isn't guaranteed, so nursing is both a back-up for if he doesn't make it, and a good career for him to take up after he retires if he  _does_ , since he doesn't want to just sit around the house doing nothing,” she explained. “It would be really cute to have a little practice of our own, a husband and wife as nurse and doctor, but not in the traditional roles. You know?”

“There are so many feminists that would approve,” Daria agreed with a smirk and a nod.

“Oh my, where is everyone?”

It seemed the working mother had once again returned.

Quinn and Daria simultaneously pointed out the window. There, Jeffy and Trent were sharing a high-five as Jake picked up the trap – with the squirrel finally caught inside.

“Male bonding,” Quinn said.

“They probably won't be back for the rest of the night, though Trent and Jeffy do have to collect their cars before they go home again,” Daria added, as the three headed around to the garage.

“Do you ever think that guys and girls aren't _meant_ to understand each other?” Quinn mused as she picked up a celery stick. “Like it's all some big un-funny joke we'll be struggling with for the rest of our lives?”

Helen sighed as she slumped back into her own seat at the table. “Oh  _God_ yes,” she groaned. “But, we still make the best of it that we can. Life would be so much more dull without them, after all.”


	44. Chapter 44

_The whole world is a scab. The point is to pick it constructively._ \- Peter Beard

~lalaLAlala~

“You picked up a guy in a vintage stationers while Trent was helping my dad and Jeffy catch the squirrelly menace?” Daria clarified when she and Jane had reunited for pizza lunch and a break-down of their respective previous night.

“Yup,” Jane agreed with a smile. “He wears cuff-links and drives one of those big old cars -”

“As opposed to our _small_ old cars, or Trent and Quinn's big ones?” Daria cut in.

“His has fins,” Jane countered. “None of our cars do.”

“Are you sure it's a good idea to pick up guys under the influence of ink-well fumes?” Daria queried as politely as she could.

“Hey, you reserved judgement for Tom,” Jane stated. “And while I know that relationship didn't work out, at least do as much for Nathan.”

“Of course,” Daria agreed. “I'm not about to award my contempt to a person I've never met. Well, unless they're already dead, in which case I think it's safe enough to form an opinion without fear of too many reprisals.”

Jane smiled slightly. “Thanks,  _Amiga_ .”

~lalaLAlala~

It was Daria's turn to drive herself and Jane to school. They alternated. Walking on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with Trent driving on Mondays, Daria claiming Wednesdays, and Jane behind the wheel on Fridays.

Quinn either drove herself, or got a ride with Jeffy. As much as she and Daria got along better now than they had when they'd first come to Lawndale, Quinn _still_ had something of an image to uphold – and was quite happy to do so.

Daria stared at her friend as she left the house behind.

“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Jane?” Daria demanded flatly.

“What?” Jane asked. “It's a classic.”

Daria close her eyes and tried to arrange what she wanted to say into a sensitive, _concerned_ sentence, rather than a biting, cutting one.

“Is there some reason you're wearing something so completely removed from your usual style?” Daria tried.

“What do you mean?”

Daria levelled a near-glare at her best friend. “Jane. It's a _yellow dress_. It hints at the possibility of school spirit,” she stated plainly. Tentatively, because Jane _was_ her best friend and she did _not_ want to step on any toes if she could help it, Daria tried again. “Is the dress the influence of your latest beau?”

“Yeah,” Jane admitted casually. “We went to an antique car show on Sunday, and we're going to start foxtrot lessons tonight.”

“Is Nathan going to pick you up from school?” Daria questioned.

“No. Why?”

“Then why are you wearing the foxtrot dress _now_?”

“Umm... good point,” Jane realised, and looked down at herself. She winced. “I'm doing something stupid for a guy, aren't I?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks Daria, you're a real friend,” Jane said wryly. “Do I have time to change?”

“Run, Lane,” Daria instructed flatly.

“Thanks for the advice, Morgendorffer, but I can't in these shoes,” Jane stated as she retreated back to the house.

“Then just go as fast as you can.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Thanks for catching me early,” Jane said when she slipped into Daria's Mini, once again her usual self rather than the carefully dated version she'd dressed up as for a beau she wouldn't be seeing for over six hours.

“You're very welcome,” Daria answered, and hit the gas.

Jane broke up with Nathan less than a week later – over his taking a fad that had passed a long time ago _way_ too seriously, among other things. Having been alerted earlier that she was doing something stupid for a guy helped Jane to snap out of it that much faster. For example, before she got to piling her hair high with curls that went out for a _reason_.

Which freed up an evening (and a ticket already bought) for two Lane siblings and their best friends to go and see Upchuck perform a bit of magical escapology. Actually, two _Morgendorffer_ siblings would be going as well, and Jeffy thoughtfully bought enough seats that they'd have elbow room and extra chairs to use for sitting popcorn and drinks on.

“I knew she was the only other member of the Fashion Club worth knowing,” Daria said plainly when she saw Stacy on the stage in a blue sparkly costume.

“Huh?” Jane asked curiously.

“Stacy was the one who came up with the Fashion Club's punishment for Tom,” Quinn supplied. “We take a very dim view of guys cheating on their girlfriends, especially with her _best_ friend. Stealing boyfriends is a different matter entirely. In that case, the girl is at fault and there _will_ be hair-pulling.”

“I for one am glad I don't have to worry about that sort of thing,” Jeffy said firmly, and smiled at Quinn as he claimed her hand in the darkness.

“No,” Quinn agreed with a pleased, content little smile. “And I'm happy about that too.”

“I may choke on their sap,” Jane quipped to Daria lowly.

“I'd agree with you, but then I'd be verging on hypocrisy,” Daria admitted, just as lowly.

The confession made Jane smile, since it was her brother that Daria was getting sappy with. She figured she a had reason to smile about that.

~lalaLAlala~

“... so then Sandi said to Mr O'Neill,” Quinn recounted, and then did an impression of the Fashion Club president. “Well, if you _want_ to get _technical_ , _all_ writing is plagiarism, because you're using words that already exist.”

“I hope he didn't change her grade,” Daria said. “Mr O'Neill is just the sort of pathetic little man that could potentially fall for that.”

“No,” Quinn said with an easy shrug. “Sandi maintained her F for _Sandi Griffin's Dracula_.”

“No hard-tack tonight lads,” Jake said as he presented dinner. “We're going top-rail number one!”

“Is it family babble time already?” Daria queried, her tone flat and uninterested as she raised the newspaper once more

“That's civil war talk, Daria,” Jake explained happily.

“What is _that_?” Quinn asked with a pointed glare at the meal.

“It's from my new civil war cook book,” Jake answered, still smiling.

“Dad,” Daria said lowly. “Why the _hell_ do you have a civil war cook book?”

“Yeah, I mean, weren't the foreign language cook books _enough_ of a mistake?” Quinn added. “And you still haven't said exactly _what_ that _is_.”

“It's corned pork and cabbage,” Jake supplied.

“Oh dear,” Quinn said weakly as she looked at the boiled meat and the boiled vegetables. “Dad, you _do_ know what cooked cabbage _does_ to a person, right?”

“Mm, fart-food,” Daria agreed from behind her paper.

“Good news everyone,” Helen declared as she walked into the kitchen. “We _finally_ settled the ATC motors case after eight _gruelling_ months, and at last I'm going to get some time off to spend with my family.”

“Dad, who's that woman in the business suit?” Daria asked evenly.

“I mean it this time,” Helen insisted.

“But what about all the _other_ cases you've been working on at the same time?” Quinn enquired.

“Everything is on hold for a little while,” Helen admitted. “Eric's, um, exhausted. He's... taking twenty-eight days to recuperate. The rest of us working at the firm will get to have at least some time off for ourselves as well while he's gone.”

“So he's in detox again?” Quinn asked innocently.

“Quinn!”

The phone rang, and Quinn reached over to pick it up before Helen could go around her _and_ Jake to get it.

“Hello? Oh, hi Aunt Rita,” Quinn answered. “Yeah, Mom's here, but it's really not a good time. No, Aunt Rita, I am _not_ making excuses. She's _just_ finished a _very_ hard case and _needs_ time to relax. Aunt Rita, talking to you is _not_ relaxing for _anyone_ in this house. I don't blame her, but why are you calling _us_? Mom's a _corporate_ lawyer, Aunt Rita, not a _civil_ lawyer. You need a _civil_ lawyer for that. Well I _live_ with a lawyer, which is why you called us in the first place. I was always going to pick up a few things if I paid attention. Look Aunt Rita, could you try calling back tomorrow? Mom really needs to unwind after this case, and besides there's another call waiting, thanks!” Quinn hung up the phone, cracked her neck, and passed it over to Daria. “Caller identification says it's not Jeffy, so, your turn,” she stated.

Daria took the cordless and pressed the button to answer.

“Hello? Actually Grandma, Aunt Rita just called. No, Quinn spoke to her, and we didn't have time between her call and yours to hear what was going on yet. Really? Well, that's fascinating. I'm sure it would make her day to hear you say that. No Grandma, it's very different. That may be, but I'm sure Cousin Erin would rather have someone with more experience handling such a delicate matter over just keeping it in the family. Yes, that I'm sure she could do. I'll pass it on. No Grandma, I still haven't changed my hair. Yes, I _am_ seeing someone. Yes, Quinn is seeing someone too. No, neither of us are rushing anything. Well, in the unlikely event you ever leave your ivory tower and come visit us here in Lawndale, you can meet them then. Bye Grandma.”

Daria pressed the button to hang up the phone.

“Girls?” Helen asked, confused.

“Cousin Erin is getting divorced,” Daria stated.

“And Aunt Rita wanted _you_ to handle the proceedings,” Quinn added.

Helen narrowed her eyes. “Rita certainly has nerve,” she growled darkly. “Though, I am sorry to hear about Erin.”

“Especially after the extravagant wedding,” Daria suggested with an unseen, arched brow and a flat tone. “And the news that she only married Brian because he gave her herpes.”

“Eew,” Quinn murmured with a shudder.

~lalaLAlala~

“My cousin, the one for whom I was a bridesmaid a couple of years ago, appears to be getting divorced,” Daria informed Trent when they were sat together on the roof of the collapsed gazebo and had already been just quietly jamming for an hour.

“Harsh,” Trent offered.

“It gets worse. After Quinn told our Aunt Rita, and I told Grandma Barksdale, to call a lawyer whose career was based around divorces rather than company lawsuits, they both called back later and emotionally blackmailed Mom into helping Cousin Erin for free when she's supposed to be taking a break from her work,” Daria stated. “Just because they want to keep the dirty little secret in the family.”

Trent narrowed his eyes in displeasure. “That,” he said, “is _not_ cool ...or fair to Helen.”

“Agreed,” Daria said with a resigned sigh. “And to top it all off, yet-to-be-confirmed members of Mom's family will be coming over and staying with us to _help_ resolve the divorce faster, which means that Dad will try and find somewhere other than the house to be for as long as there is extra oestrogen in the house. Quinn and I are going to try and attempt to be mediators when the fighting breaks out.”

“Not if?” Trent queried.

“Definitely a matter of when,” Daria affirmed with a shake of her head.

“Well... Can't do much to help out with your Mom's family, but Jake can have Wind's room until the whole thing blows over,” Trent offered. “And I'll call Jeffy and Jesse up. We can do something manly together,” he said with a thoughtful smirk.

Daria's smile and raised eyebrow were inquisitive. “What _did_ you guys do when you took that squirrel away?” she asked. “You never told me.”

Trent chuckled. “After we released the squirrel outside of town, Jeffy pointed us to a go-cart place his dad used to take him. We had a good time,” Trent explained.

Daria leant over and kissed Trent's cheek. “Thank you,” she said when she sat back. “This whole extra-marital crisis is making me feel a bit weird about the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, um, does that freak you out?”

Trent shook his head. “No,” he said. “Remember, I've been witness to _two_ divorces already with Wind, and Summer was never _actually_ married to any of the men she got pregnant with. I know how this sort of thing can mess with your mind. I'll keep an eye on your dad, and just generally be here if you need me. Alright?”

Daria nodded, grateful.

~lalaLAlala~

Rita showed up, without Erin, to help work through the divorce proceedings while she had her house re-painted. Erin had been sent to Switzerland by Grandmother Barksdale, to 'get over' the mess her marriage had become. That little holiday turned into a second honeymoon when Brian followed her and patched up their relationship.

After all, if he didn't have Erin, then he wouldn't have a source of income. He hadn't been working since the day after their _first_ honeymoon after all, and Erin had been the one supporting them.

Quinn and Daria had to put the fighting to a stop, but they'd anticipated that, and had worked out beforehand that Daria would imitate their mother, and Quinn would do her impression of Rita – and they would fight.

“Gee Rita, are you ever going to get a job?”  
“Why should I Helen, when you won't ever pay attention to Mother?”

“You had a _dance floor_ at your wedding!”

“You're a show-off and a know-it-all!”

“Mom likes you better!”

“That's because I call her better!”

The two Morgendorffer sisters then turned to their mother and aunt, and folded their arms over their chests expectantly.

Helen and Rita proceeded to cry, hug, and _finally_ (maybe) let go of their bad feelings for each other. For a little while.

“So, you, me, movie?” Quinn suggested to Daria quietly as they watched Helen and Rita go back into the kitchen to bake cookies together, this time more amicably than they had been a few minutes ago.

“Can I include my future sister-in-law?” Daria queried.

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. “You really _are_ serious about Trent,” she noted, surprised. She smiled though. “Sure,” she agreed. “She's going to be _my_ sister-in-law too, and Jane can be pretty cool, even if she _isn't_ popular. I'll get the paper with the movie options, you call Jane.”

“I'll let Dad know it's probably safe for him to come home at the same time,” Daria agreed.

“Jeffy _really_ likes Daddy,” Quinn said happily.

Daria smiled. “You're surprised at how serious I am about my relationship with Trent, but you know, you're already planning _your_ future with Jeffy too,” she pointed out.

Quinn sighed. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I know a lot of high school sweethearts don't work out, but I think we really will. We've got plans for the future beyond just making out in the back of his car.”

“Always a plus,” Daria stated with a sage nod. “You know, Dad would really enjoy helping you write up a business plan for your private medical practice, even if it's only hypothetical right now.”

“It's great too, the way Daddy has been doing so well since that convention you went to together. I think it's really improved his outlook.”

“It helps that the good business flow has really taken a lot of the strain off paying the credit card bills.”

“Ha.”


	45. Chapter 45

_What's the difference between a guy in the bighouse and the average guy you pass in the street? The guy in the bighouse is a Loser who tried._ \- Charles Bukowski

~lalaLAlala~

“Daria, is there some _reason_ you weren't home last night?” Helen asked when Daria returned home from school, one carefully plucked eyebrow perfectly arched.

“I was unable to resist the pull of Morpheus yesterday when I was hanging out at Casa Lane,” Daria replied flatly. “This is hardly a new occurrence.”

“Yes,” Helen allowed, “but it's never been without notice before, and the last time I remember you staying over at the Lane's was _before_ you and Trent were going out.”

Daria frowned at her mother. “If you insist on taking me to a gynaecologist for an inspection, you and they will find that my virtue is still as intact as it ever was,” she stated, an edge in her voice.

“I'm not going to take you to a gynaecologist,” Helen protested with a hands raised defensively and a dismissing shake of her head. “I was just concerned, that's all. Though I can't say I'm not relieved to hear it.”

“Mph,” Daria grunted.

“I'm sorry Daria, but while your father has gotten to know Trent better, what with the squirrel-hunt and staying with the young man while Rita was here... I really haven't,” Helen explained, a little helplessly. “And your father doesn't really take note of the sort of things that concern a mother when it comes to the beaus of her daughters.”

“Alright, then let me give you a harsh summary,” Daria offered. “Trent's oldest sister has five kids, all to different fathers, none of whom she was ever married to. His brother pays two alimony cheques a month and is on his third marriage. Trent has told _me_ that he intends to wait until we've both finished college before he _proposes_. Furthermore, while he hasn't actually said it, I get the impression that even if _I_ weren't more than tentative about sex, Trent wants to save that sort of intimacy _for marriage_.”

Helen blinked in shock at how serious all of that sounded. It certainly was a harsh summary, just as Daria had promised it would be.

“Does that allay all of your motherly concerns sufficiently?” Daria probed hotly.

“Yes,” Helen answered, subdued. “Yes, thank you Daria.”

“Good. Please _never_ ask about, pose curious veiled inquiries of, or make implications about this subject _ever again_.”

~lalaLAlala~

What Daria _had_ been doing at Casa Lane was never brought up, but in fact, she had been researching scholarship options with Trent and Jane. Yes, they had some money saved up. No, they did _not_ want to rely entirely on those savings to get them through.

Jane had applied for no less than five art scholarships, while Trent had looked up music scholarships and scholarships for those people who were _finally_ going to college, to try and get their lives on track after not having been _able_ (for whatever reason) to go to college straight from high school. Daria had written out applications to just about every other scholarship that was even remotely applicable to herself that they'd been able to find.

It was buying into The System, which was another way of saying 'sucking up', but it was money, and they were just as entitled to have that money as any other person. Hopefully, they'd be more successful than the other applicants at getting those scholarships though.

Scholarships looked just as good on college applications as extra-curricular activities, something Daria had precious few of, Jane had even fewer of, and Trent couldn't claim at all, as he would be entering college at the age of twenty-three, rather than eighteen.

Daria continued to return to Casa Lane to write out her applications – and help the Lanes with theirs, as they were more artistic people than they were essay-writers. She was more careful to wake herself up sufficiently to return to her parents house each night though, after that first accidental sleep-over. She was a little more sluggish in first period though.

“Hey Daria,” Jodie greeted during the break after second period.

“Hey,” she answered.

“You doing okay?”

“I appreciate your concern, however, I'm simply filling out scholarship applications, and working on constructing my _college_ applications in an attractive manner,” Daria replied.

“Smart,” Jodie complimented. “I don't suppose you want another extra-curricular for your college application?” she asked hopefully. “One of the editors of the school paper quit.”

Daria sighed in resignation. She didn't really, but this was the year for getting in the extra-curriculars and writing the applications. “What would I have to do?”

“Just check grammar and spelling,” Jodie answered quickly.

“If I can do this editing via email, then fine,” Daria agreed.

“Thank you _so_ much Daria,” Jodie said, a grateful smile all over her face. Only for that mouth to turn down and the lower-lip to be caught between her teeth. “Um...”

“Try the Wizard Foundation Prize,” Daria recommended. “Neither of us are likely to get it, since Wizard is both sexist _and_ racist, but there's no harm in trying.”

Jodie's smile returned, more sardonic than before, but still appreciative. “Thanks Daria.”

~lalaLAlala~

“Dad's offered to write a letter of recommendation for Middleton,” Daria stated when she slumped into Trent's car.

“Middleton?” Jane repeated from the back seat, confused.

“His and Mom's Alma Mater,” Daria explained. “It's actually where they met.”

“Huh, history,” Trent noted.

“And a versatile college, even if it doesn't have the reputation of Boston University and its many sub-schools, or quite the desired distance from Lawndale,” Daria added, though she was clearly unenthusiastic.

“That's right, your folks took you there as part of the checking-out-colleges part of the college prep-class, didn't they?” Jane recalled. “You made a good bit of cash off the students there.”

“And raised the school's grade-average by doing so,” Daria remarked dryly. “Dad's latest effort to promote the college was to inform me that they've dropped all requirements, so we can take whatever courses we want.”

“That is actually kind of appealing,” Jane allowed, then shrugged and shook her head. They all three wanted to get into Boston University before any other option.

“But not necessary, unless we can't take the pressure in Boston,” Trent stated firmly.

“We'll make it,” Jane declared confidently.

“We will,” Daria affirmed lowly. “Now, remind me why we're going to Jodie's graduation party?”

“One,” Jane counted off with a chuckle, “because she's our friend. Two, she, Mack and Brittany _aren't_ going to a college in Boston, so we're unlikely to see them again any time soon.”

“If we're lucky, then we won't see _anyone_ from Lawndale in Boston, except for each other,” Daria quipped.

“It's just one more night with those who's stupidity has so tormented and entertained us lo these many years,” Jane reminded her friend with a smile. “A farewell to dopes.”

Daria grunted in answer, and turned to watch the street roll past until they reached Jodie's house.

“Hey guys,” Jodie greeted with a smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“I suppose pulling out a can of pepper-spray right now would be considered bad form?” Daria enquired dully.

“Don't be a party-pooper Daria,” Jane scolded with a smirk. “You _crave_ this group dynamic, don't deny it.”

“Hi Daria! Hi Jane! Hi Trent!” Brittany greeted with a smile and a wave. “Did you hear back about your college applications yet? I'll be going to State University,” she said brightly. “They have one of the best cheer-leading squads in the country, and I got my acceptance letter last week!”

“That's... really great, Brittany,” Jane offered weakly.

“I'm _also_ going to be studying film,” Brittany added, a bit more seriously.

“That _is_ great,” Daria affirmed.

“Yeah,” Jodie agreed with a smile. “I'm sure you'll do great, Brittany. I got into Turner,” Jodie said, continuing the conversation, “and Mack managed to get a scholarship to Vance.”

“That's a good school,” Trent noted, impressed. “Uh, both of them,” he added, when he realised he'd spoken in the singular, and two colleges had just been named.

“Have you guys heard back yet?” Jodie asked.

“If these two have, then they're keeping it from me, or haven't taken the time to check their mail lately,” Daria answered, a tiny bit of peevishness seeping into her tone as she spared a Look for the Lanes. “I got my letter from Boston University today.”

“We all did,” Jane supplied. “Trent and I have just been so busy looking at ads for housing in Boston that we haven't even gotten around to sharing the good news yet.”

“You're _all_ going to Boston University?” Jodie choked out, eyes wide.

“That's definitely what it looks like,” Trent agreed with a lazy smile.

“Wow! Congratulations!” Brittany cheered.

~lalaLAlala~

Trent was sitting in the bleachers with Jake, Helen, Quinn and Jeffy, watching the graduation ceremony for his little sister... and his girlfriend. His girlfriend who had just won the Lawndale High Dianne Fossey Award – which, according to Ms Li, was for dazzling academic achievement in the face of near-total misanthropy. Trent didn't think it really fit, but it was still an impressive trophy.

Daria had to be pushed out of her seat by Jane though. She was simply too stunned by the very notion of receiving the award that she couldn't even stand to be presented it without prompting.

“Um... thank you,” Daria said when she had crossed the stage and accepted the trophy from Ms Li, only to be gestured towards the podium and microphone.

Clearly, it was being implied she should make a speech.

“I'm not much for public speaking, or much for speaking,” Daria started. “Or, come to think of it, much for the public, and I'm not very good at lying. So, let me just say that, in my experience, high school sucks.”

Jane in her fold-out chair on the field, and Trent and Jesse on the bleachers, all smirked in agreement.

“If I had to do it all over again, I'd have started advance-placement classes in pre-school so I could go from eighth grade straight to college,” Daria continued on the stage.

Helen and Jake both seemed distressed by this, while Quinn and Jeffy were fighting amused smiles of their own.

“However,” Daria said. “Given the unalterable fact that high school sucks, I'd like to add that if you're lucky enough to have at least one good friend, and a family that cares, it doesn't have to suck quite as much.”

Quinn's head fell to rest on Jeffy's shoulder, and a different sort of smile tugged at both of their faces, while the distress of Helen and Jake faded in favour of pride.

“Otherwise, my advice is: stand firm for what you believe in until, and unless, logic and experience prove you wrong. Remember, when the emperor _looks_ naked, he _is_ naked. The truth and a lie are not sort-of the same thing, ever,” Daria resolved, and then she added one last thing. “And there's no aspect, no facet, no moment of life, that can't be improved with pizza. Thank you.”

Jeffy gave an approving hoot as the rest of the assembled masses broke out into applause, and Trent's smile grew just a little wider. It really had been a good idea to bring along Daria's video camera and set it to record the whole ceremony, if only for _that_ speech.

A few years later, Amy Barksdale was the one smirking next to her niece's video camera as she taped Daria's graduation from Boston U. Well, Daria's, Jane's, and Trent's graduation, to be more accurate. As she was the relation that lived in Boston, she'd been the go-to for advice on things like housing, insurance, and all of that when the trio had made the move, and she'd gotten to know the Lane siblings fairly well since then. She would not be the least bit ashamed to say that she liked them, and fully approved of Jane as Daria's friend, and Trent as Daria's boyfriend.

She even approved of Jesse when he followed his best friend to Boston, got a job at a music store – sometimes working the floor, helping customers, sometimes teaching kids how to play guitar – and finally asked Jane out on a date. He would have been at the graduation ceremony too, but he hadn't been able to get off work.

The graduation ceremony was also being covered by a couple of minor TV channels, since the trio had already become reasonably successful with their art house while also still in college – and being quite successful at that as well. Val of _Val Magazine_ was there too, partly as a personal friend of the trio, but also partly as a journalist.

Later re-examination of the tapes would show that Trent had lingered long enough to whisper in the ear of the man presenting them with their diplomas, and the man giving a smile, nod, and _very_ firm handshake in response.

The very last thing that happened at that graduation ceremony? Trent and Daria were summoned back onto the stage, and Trent got down on one knee before her.

He had promised, after all, that he would propose when they graduated. Daria hadn't really believed, or even thought for a second, that he meant _when they graduated_.

Through the shock, Daria choked out a yes, and the whole auditorium went absolutely _wild_ with applause and cheering. Jane's triumphant “Yeah!” could still be heard above everybody else as Trent swept Daria up in his arms and spun her around in joy, and Amy gave a piercing, cheering whistle before she joined in the applause.

Even if it did mean she'd have to wear a formal dress again soon. Daria's wedding would, she was quite sure, be a very different tone to Erin's. If for no other reason than that Jane would happily slip Rita and Helen some of those glitter berries if either of them started to get out of hand.

Both the proposal and the wedding were front page articles on _Val_.

~lalaLAlala~


End file.
